


Five Pieces Of One Mirror

by Not_You



Series: Multiplicity [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bondage, Bubble Bath, Child Death, Churches & Cathedrals, Collars, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cupcakes, Dick Pics, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Gags, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Mischa Lecter, Multiple Personalities, Muzzles, Operas, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Rimming, Roman Catholicism, Sad cannibal noises, Safeword Use, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexting, Starvation, bondage mitts, don't wanna call it age play because it isn't play, except for that one time, it's only not ignored because dr. lecter steps in, murder-free, there are about five of hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 36,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The disparate selves of Hannibal Lecter have been a functioning unit for some time, but being with Will makes the guiltiest of them sure of one thing: they don't deserve to be happy.  Four out of five selves disagree, and Will is on the side of love, peace, and rehabilitating abused animals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will wakes up very early, the way he does sometimes, and groans to find Hannibal's side of the bed empty. He sighs and rolls upright, shuffling into the kitchen with hopeful dogs at his heels. He pauses in the doorway, smiling at the sight of Hannibal sitting at the table with a cup of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream, wearing his pink robe and bunny slippers.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he coos, and Hannibal beams at him in the way he only does when Little Sister is fronting. She's a sweet, shy little girl, and is always touchingly glad to see Will. He goes over and kisses her cheek, which makes her giggle and kick her feet, making both sets of bunny ears flop back and forth. Will chuckles, and straightens up to start some coffee and to get out the dog food. Little Sister sips her cocoa and watches him, petting any of the dogs that come close enough. 

All of Hannibal's people enjoy the dogs, but Little Sister adores them. She coos Lithuanian babytalk to them, and they cuddle close, responding to her tone. Dogs being smarter than people, they always know exactly who's in front, and now they smile and wag their tails, basking in the undiluted affection.

Hannibal is due at the office two hours from now, but that's more than enough time for Will to make Little Sister some French toast. She loves sweet things, and won't touch meat. Now she makes her bunny slippers dance and hums to herself as she cuts her toast into into tiny bites. Will just watches her, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee.

“Will?” she asks.

“Yeah, honey?”

“More, please.” She holds up her empty cup with both hands, and Will smiles, heating up the hot chocolate still in the pot on the stove.

“I hope you were careful,” he says, and she giggles.

“Dr. Lecter made it for me, silly.”

“Glad to see him looking out for you,” Will says, and pours the rich brew into the cup and then pulls out the organic, barely-sweetened whipped cream, the only aerosol food product that Hannibal's adult selves will tolerate. He sets it beside Little Sister's plate, and she beams at him.

“Thank you, Will!” she chirps, and sprays an enormous amount of cream on top of her cocoa. That done, she goes back to devouring her breakfast. He strokes her hair, which always seems fluffier when she's like this, and helps her to clean her sticky face and hands once she's finished. She bounces up and goes to the other room, calling that Dr. Lecter says there's time for an episode of Lady Lovely Locks. Will does his best to keep his exasperated groan inaudible, and goes and helps her get it set up on Hannibal's laptop. 

He has a chance to escape when it starts, but then Little Sister looks over and asks him to sit with her, eyes huge and innocent. Will sighs and settles in next to her, cuddling that enormous, rangy frame as the Lady defends the Kingdom of Lovelylocks from extremely low-stakes threats in an unbearably saccharine atmosphere. At least it's only about twenty minutes long, and then he's free, because it's time for Dr. Lecter to dress for the office.

Dr. Lecter is really kind of an asshole, but he's always very kind to Little Sister, and has admitted to being fond of Will. He vanishes into the upstairs bedroom where he keeps the wardrobe and personal effects of at least five selves, and emerges fifteen minutes later in an impeccable suit in one of many bizarre types of windowpane check. At least today's tie isn't paisley.

“Black coffee, please,” he says, like Will is a barista. 

Will just rolls his eyes and goes with it, pouring it into Little Sister's Hello Kitty mug specifically to annoy Dr. Lecter, who gives Will a long-suffering look as he accepts the cup with both hands, always careful of Little Sister's things. He drains it quickly, and hands it back to Will, giving him a stiff and awkward kiss on the cheek that touches his heart, because affectionate gestures of any kind from the doctor are so rare.

“I guess you're not all bad,” Will murmurs, straightening his tie. Dr. Lecter is so prim and put together that he hardly seems real, one of those people who don't sweat and barely breathe.

“Thank you, Will,” he says, with that reptilian little smirk, and walks out the door. 

Dr. Lecter fronts for most of the business day, but Hannibal usually calls Will during lunch. Sometimes the Cannibal sends texts. They're usually equal parts sexy and disturbing, and Hannibal always apologizes for that, even though Will has told him that he kind of enjoys them.

His own day begins a little later than Dr. Lecter's, and Will makes it to his first class in plenty of time. As always, he's very glad that he keeps his personal life as water-tight as he does. He doesn't need well-meaning questions about 'living with multiplicity' and whether or not he should fear for his safety.

By the time Will's break rolls around, he's actually hoping the Cannibal will have sent him something. There is a new message, but it doesn't look right. The Cannibal is the only personality of those that have sent Will texts to use any kind of shorthand or textspeak, but he never capitalizes anything, and he never says anything like this:

_Will i need u 2 kno please Will please the body cant get away with it_

He stares at the message for a long moment, wondering about typos and autocorrect before he decides to just call. It takes a long time to get an answer, and it's Dr. Lecter, not Hannibal.

“Hello, Will,” he says. “Regrettably, the Sin-Eater got loose. His text refers to our collective guilt. He seems to suffer from some delusion that you are ignorant of our crimes and must be informed.”

Will has read Hannibal's file and knows all about the events that fragmented him. As usual, he did not become multiple from being carefully raised to adulthood by loving parents, and in the course of surviving, did some things that might make anyone feel guilty.

“I thought you all shared knowledge,” he says, “barring the things Little Sister is too young for.”

“We do, but reason has never had anything to do with the Sin-Eater's actions,” Dr. Lecter says, sounding deeply annoyed. “I hope he didn't annoy you.”

“Nope, just confused me. Everyone else doing all right?”

“Yes. Would you like to talk to Hannibal?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” Will drawls, and the response is Hannibal's soft laugh.

“Hello, darling boy,” he says, and they spend the rest of Will's break talking about dinner plans like any normal couple, ignoring (for now) whatever turmoil the message represents.


	2. Chapter 2

Will doesn't forget the Sin-Eater's message, but he tries not to let it worry him. When he comes home, the dogs gambol up to him, and Hannibal greets him with a hug and a real kiss. Will does his best to love every facet of his boyfriend, but Hannibal is the easiest to love, the personality that learned how to French kiss and how to make souffle, and keeps track of all the dirty jokes they've ever heard.

“Sorry about our breach of courtesy earlier,” he says, and Will just hugs him.

“It's all right. I just don't like to think of any of you being as miserable as the Sin-Eater must be.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes. “It's his nature,” he says, stroking Will's hair. “Hopefully he'll stay where he belongs.”

Hannibal's various selves have mentioned a warm, dark place where they sleep when they have nothing else to do, or when they're not riding along. Little Sister likes to watch and ask questions while Hannibal cooks, and Dr. Lecter enjoys the artier and more foreign of Hannibal's favorite films. He sometimes has insightful commentary to offer, and even the Cannibal has been allowed to put in a few words during the gorier of Hannibal's favorite films. The Sin-Eater is the only personality who never comes out. Will feels more than a little sorry for him, but he's also the reason that Hannibal's upper arms and chest are covered with thin, white scars.

The night, Will crawls into bed with Dr. Lecter, who's reading one of his professional journals, dressed in a set of pajamas that Hannibal is going to remove the second he's driving again. It's kind of cute, though, as are the reading glasses that Will knows full well are just as much of an affectation as his own.

Dr. Lecter is just putting his tablet aside with that slight twitch of his fingertips that means that Hannibal is about to take the reins from Dr. Lecter. Hannibal is the most sexual of the personalities that Will is allowed to play with, and he's hoping for some action. Instead, the hair stands up on the back of his neck as Hannibal jitters like he's having a seizure. Before Will can even decide what to do about it, he curls into a ball and goes still, his hands clutching at his own hair so hard it has to hurt, his face buried in his knees.

“...Hello?” Will reaches out but doesn't touch him, unsure.

Hannibal makes a low, keening noise of utter and desolate misery, rocking back and forth and whispering to himself in Lithuanian. “Let me help you,” Will says, and Hannibal shakes his head violently, raising a tear-streaked face.

“You can't help the body! We don't deserve it, not after all the terrible things we've done!”

Will sighs, because this must be the poor Sin-Eater. “You were forced to,” he says, “and you didn't even know.”

“It's not just that!” he wails. “We're evil, Will. Pure, filthy evil and how can you say you love the body when you've never seen the Cannibal face-to-face?” his voice has risen to a shriek now, and the dogs are whining, Buster barking what Will is pretty sure is the canine equivalent of a sharp, 'stop that!'

“Don't frighten the dogs,” Will says, gathering the Sin-Eater into his arms because Hannibal has said that he doesn't want to harm Will in any way, that his hate is entirely directed at himself and the system as a whole. Sure enough, the Sin-Eater lets Will hug his tense and unresponsive frame.

“You don't know,” he whimpers, “you don't know you don't know you don't know” he goes on for a while, a broken record, some piece of mental machinery caught in a loop. The words stop even feeling like words, and Will is a little dazed as he just rocks Hannibal the way he does when Little Sister is the one to wake up from a nightmare. He rubs the Sin-Eater's back, which somehow feels bonier than usual, and tucks the blanket up around his shoulders as he shivers, even though Hannibal would be complaining that it was too warm.

“I don't blame you,” he says over the soft litany, “and I do know. I thought you were there. Everyone got to see me read the file, so they would know that I know.”

The Sin-Eater just moans, so dismally that Winston hops up onto the bed and starts licking him. He squirms, but doesn't fight it, and Will gently pushes Winston away. “You've never seen the Cannibal,” he whimpers, and then his shivering intensifies into a mirror image of the original struggle, and Dr. Lecter is back. He straightens up immediately, but is so unnerved that he stays in Will's embrace. Will offers him a tissue, and he mumbles almost inaudible thanks, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. He tosses it into the trashcan, and as always, his aim is flawless.

“I'm sorry you had to witness that shameful display,” he says, and Will rolls his eyes before swiping at them with the back of one hand because they're a little wet.

“That painful display,” he says, his voice a little rough. “Is there any way we can help him?”

Dr. Lecter sighs. “In order to help someone, Will,” he says, sounding every inch the therapist, “they have to want to be helped.”

“If you say so.”

“Excuse me, Will. A hot shower helps bring the Cannibal's powers to bear in keeping him back.”

Will sighs, and kisses his cheek, letting him go and picking up his own discarded underwear. He'd jerk off with Hannibal's, but if Dr. Lecter has to stay in front to keep everything in order, Will doesn't want to aggravate him. Dr. Lecter doesn't like it when things are messy and he doesn't have gloves. Will whines, rutting up into his hand and biting onto the other forefinger. He might only be touching himself, but the sheets smell like Hannibal, and Will groans and shakes, coming so hard his vision grays out for a moment.

“If you're quite finished?” Dr. Lecter says at last, and Will laughs helplessly.

“Yes, doctor, I'm finished. Thank you.” He tosses the shorts into the hamper, and Dr. Lecter shudders.

“You're welcome,” he mutters, climbing into bed beside Will. 

He switches off the reading lamp, leaving the room bathed in the soft pink glow of Little Sister's nightlight. She's terrified of the dark, and the one thing all of Hannibal's other personalities can agree on is that Little Sister must be kept safe and happy. It's touching, as is the way that Dr. Lecter cuddles in against Will's side, like he's not really sure how, but needs the warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next week, things are as normal as they ever get, so Will is nowhere near as prepared as he should be for the next time the Sin-Eater breaks out. He comes home from work to find little arcs of blood on the walls and none of the dogs in sight, and he goes from tired and hungry to completely alert in about two and a half seconds.

“Hannibal?” he calls, following the blood deeper into the house, terrible visions of severed arteries dancing in his head. The blood could conceivably be someone else's, but Will has to admit to himself that he doesn't care about that right now. There isn't too much more of it at least, and he finds Hannibal in the bathroom, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and bandaging his left forearm, glowering down at it as if it has personally offended him.

“Hannibal,” Will snaps, “what the fuck happened?”

“The Sin-Eater is devoted to you,” Dr. Lecter says, not looking up.

“Lecter...”

“The Sin-Eater thinks that we all must die for what we've done. He... loves you.” As always when he talks about emotions, Dr. Lecter looks like he just took a drink of sour milk. “As much as the rest of us do, and so he's sure that you would be better off without us, that we're taking selfish advantage of your beautiful soul.”

Will chuckles, in a painful kind of way. “Even Little Sister?”

“He thinks she'd be better off dead than tethered to us. We firmly disagree.”

“Has he always been so... desperate?”

“No.” He finally looks up, his eyes dark and his smile humorless. “You see, Will, the Sin-Eater believes that we don't deserve to be happy. We're very happy with you.”

“...Oh.”

“I am going to contact Dr. Du Maurier,” Dr. Lecter says, clipping the bandage into place. “But first we have to clean the house and reassure Little Sister.”

Will wonders when the hell he's ever going to see Hannibal again, and immediately feels guilty for it, because obviously keeping the Sin-Eater under control is important. He makes Dr. Lecter sit there and rest his hand while he scrubs the blood off the walls. There isn't that much of it after all, and the dogs emerge from various hiding places, wagging their tails as if to apologize for letting Hannibal hurt himself. Once the walls are clean, Will crouches and hugs Winston, who wags encouragingly.

“Will?” Little Sister calls, and she sounds like she's on the verge of tears already.

“Right here, baby!” Will calls back, and goes back to the bathroom, herding Little Sister out so he can cuddle her on the bed. 

Like the very small child she is, she's upset that everyone is fighting and that her arm hurts, but is very comforted by Will's presence. He rocks her and rubs her back until she feels strong enough to go upstairs and change from Dr. Lecter's suit into one of her nightgowns. Will helps her, and is always amazed and how unerotic it is. It's the same body, but animated by such a childish presence that Will wants to touch it the way he would touch a child, friendly and protective. Once Little Sister is dressed, she bounces down the stairs, demanding dinner.

Hannibal says that Little Sister is growing up, that when she came into being she was just learning to talk, nowhere near full sentences. Now she helps Will cook, not touching anything hot or sharp, and watching the steaming food in fascination. There are steaks that need to be cooked sometime soon, but Little Sister hates meat, so instead it's vegetable soup with alphabet-shaped noodles, one of her favorites. Hannibal makes the noodles himself, of course. Only the best for Little Sister.

Much as Will misses the one that's actually his boyfriend, Little Sister is good company. She sings and asks Will about his day and tells him a whole elaborate story about unicorns. She really is a sweet kid, and Will is glad to settle onto the couch with her in his lap while he grades quizzes. It's a little hard to see around her and he has to stretch his neck, but that's fine. The dogs gather around them and Little Sister babbles and coos at them, playing with Winston's floppy ears. Will chuckles, and finally shifts her off because her weight is making his lower legs fall asleep. She makes a little complaining noise, and then cuddles in against his side and falls asleep.

Hannibal doesn't wake up until Will is done with his grading, but it is Hannibal. He smiles at Will, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good evening, dear.”

“Hey,” Will says, turning his head to make it a real kiss, unable to help a quiet sound of pleasure in his throat. Hannibal purrs and nuzzles into his stubble.

“You're always so patient with us,” he says softly. “I'm going to change out of this nightgown and make us something more substantial than alphabet soup.” He stands, kissing Will's forehead and vanishing upstairs as Will gathers his various papers and hopes that the Sin-Eater will just stay down for a while. The dogs look hopeful too, and when Hannibal comes downstairs he justifies their faith in him by cooking the steaks, pan-searing the trimmed fat and gristle so each of the pack can have a nibble.

“I got the salad made before our self-loathing friend showed up,” he says, pulling the spinner out of the fridge. 

“Always good to be prepared, I guess,” Will says, opening the wine because Hannibal insists on red wine and that it be allowed to breathe. He arranges lettuce and watercress in a way that's almost too pretty to eat, and slices bread with complete control of the knife, not even one of those little finger-twitches that are all that give him away, sometimes. He stays with Will all through dinner, and afterward drags Will upstairs the second the cleaning is done.

Dr. Lecter and the Cannibal have both ridden along for sex before, but tonight is all Hannibal. He covers Will's body in kisses, biting his thighs and laughing at the way it makes him squeak before rolling him over and rubbing insistent fingertips on his hole. Will usually takes more foreplay than this, but the fucking Sin-Eater has been cock-blocking them for days, and now his body craves Hannibal's fingers, sucking them in. He buries his face in the pillow and groans, rising onto his knees and rocking back.

“Just fuck me, Hannibal,” Will gasps, when the third finger slides in. “Come on, I can take it, please, please, _please_ ,” the word turns into an open-mouthed cry as Hannibal's lubed cock slides into him. 

Neither of them can hang on for long, just panting and groaning and gasping endearments as Hannibal fucks Will deep and slow, getting faster and more ragged as he gets closer and closer, draping himself over Will's back, so heavy and so warm, hips grinding in and in and in until he reaches around and grips Will's cock almost too tight, fucking him through his orgasm and then coming deep inside him, shuddering. Will groans, wishing that he had the energy to turn and look at Hannibal. He makes a faint noise of complaint, and Hannibal slips out and rolls him onto his back, grinning down at him. Will chuckles, and pulls him down for a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

Will is lucky enough to wake up to Hannibal in the morning, and they spend an extra half-hour under the covers, snuggled up together and talking softly about the day ahead, and what Hannibal needs to tell Dr. Du Maurier. Will also insists on changing Hannibal's bandage so that he can assure himself that the Sin-Eater's cuts are light, if alarmingly parallel to the arm, forced diagonal by Dr. Lecter snatching control.

“Dr. Lecter will be able to manage his practice,” Hannibal says, glancing at the clock. “Ugh, we need to get going.”

“Well, as long as your arm doesn't turn black and fall off,” Will mutters, and Hannibal grins, kissing him deeply and then stepping away with a sigh, and letting Dr. Lecter take over. He gets dressed with the same prissy neatness he uses every business day, and sighs at the worried look on Will's face.

“We'll be all right, Will,” he says. “now that we're prepared, the Sin-Eater won't overtake us again.”

“If you say so. Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” Dr. Lecter says, and kisses Will on the forehead before going downstairs to make coffee.

He's actually very affectionate with Will, and Will is pretty sure that Hannibal is riding along and demanding hugs and kisses on their way out the door. Once they're gone, Will has another cup of coffee, reminds himself that Hannibal and company have survived for decades and that he won't be what finally breaks them. He really hopes he won't, anyway.

Will worries all morning, but there's a reason he's a lecturer and not a kindergarten teacher. This is a job that can be done on autopilot. Ever since he met Hannibal, light dissociation has always made him wonder about multiplicity, about how it feels and works. Hannibal had gone undetected by almost the entire world until his fourth year as a successful therapist. Only then did he seek diagnosis. To prove a point, he said when he told Will about it. After three abortive attempts, he had lucked into Bedelia Du Maurier, who doesn't pressure him to integrate and lets Little Sister play with her jewelry.

By the time the morning is over and Will can check his texts, the anxiety is nearly unbearable. He knows that he's on Hannibal's paperwork as an emergency contact and that someone would have called if Hannibal was bleeding out on the office floor or locked in a padded room somewhere, but that doesn't make him any less tense.

_Will: the Cannibal insists on writing to you. I apologize in advance for his obscenity_

Will chuckles, and opens the next message.

_will my sweet baby i havent tasted u in so long im starting 2 4get what its like and we cant have that will we just can't i need u on my tongue ur blood ur hole ur sweat i need 2 taste u_

Will can feel himself blushing, remembering the last time the Cannibal rode along, how Hannibal had rimmed him and bitten him and told him constantly how delicious he was. Will is pretty sure he should be afraid of the Cannibal, but all he can manage is fondness mingled with caution, the way he would feel about an unknown hurt dog. He might be bitten at any moment, but he's still drawn to the creature.

_i want 2 lick my way inside u until my tongue reaches ur beating heart_

“God,” Will mutters, flicking to the next message, “you are such a weird bastard.”

_think about u a lot back here in the dark think about how u taste how u sound will how u make these noises like ur breaking like ur coming apart 4 me like every fiber of u is mine_

Will squirms, and wonders, as he always does when reading sexts from the Cannibal, just what the hell is wrong with him. He reaches down to adjust himself, and moves to the next message.

_there scared ill take u apart but i would never ur so delicious alive so tasty so perfect my sweet boy i long 4 u_

That one's almost sweet, in its fucked up way. Will is honestly touched as he moves to the last message:

_i love ur cock so much i wish i could keep it buried inside me forever pulsing pulsing grinding up and into my heart into the red wet heat of everything i am_

Will contemplates this for a long moment. He definitely has about seventy-five percent of an extremely weird boner, and he should answer the poor lonely freak. He has some idea how the Cannibal must feel, shunted aside and pushed back all the time. He tries to think of something to say, and at last settles for bringing his phone with him when he creeps down to the bathroom to jerk off. It doesn't take him long, and he takes a few shaky, left-handed pictures of his spent cock and come-slicked hand before washing up and fleeing back to his office.

At the sanctuary of his desk, Will can examine his dick pics. Two out of four are hopeless blurs, but of the two remaining, one looks all right. He sends it to the Cannibal along with a dripping anatomical heart emoji. With nothing else to say, he eats his lunch and makes sure that he has all the notes he needs for his next class. Right before he leaves the office, another text comes in:

_fucking DELICIOUS_

Will chuckles, and pockets his phone, making his way to the auditorium. He's interested in the subjects he's currently teaching, but he's more interested in getting home to make sure that the fucking Sin-Eater hasn't painted the walls with blood again. He has to stick around to answer a few questions, and he reminds himself not to be an asshole to his students.

After what feels like a thousand years, he can drive home. He calls Hannibal before he starts the car, and goes straight to voice mail, which could mean anything. Will tries not to speed too much on his way home. Things are alarmingly quiet when he walks into the house, but it's not the same kind of quiet as yesterday. The dogs are lounging around in various naps, and all calmly wag their tails and smile in greeting. 

The whole house feels quiet but energized, and Will smiles when he sees Hannibal curled up in the big armchair, Little Sister's favorite blanket around his shoulders. His eyes are moving behind closed lids, but his breathing is much too fast for sleep, and his fingers keep twitching on the edge of the blanket the way they do when he's holding a house meeting. He has only seen this a few times before, but he knows that nothing can wake Hannibal now, and that really, nothing should. He makes sure that the blanket is secure, and leaves Hannibal a text before taking the dogs out for a walk.


	5. Chapter 5

Will takes his time, wandering the property and hoping that Hannibal's meeting is going well. The first time Will had ever seen it he had thought it was some sort of absence seizure, rushing over to check on him and nearly calling 911 before Dr. Lecter had been able to crack one eye and inform him that a meeting was in progress. Will chuckles, picking up a stick for Winston who bolts off ahead of the throw, a few of the others running with him. Winston is the only one with enough retriever blood to really love fetch, but Buster is competitive, and any excuse to run is good for the whole pack.

Winston prevails, and comes bolting back with the stick, tail held high. Will laughs, and throws it a few more times before calling all of them to heel and turning back toward the house. The kitchen lights are on, and Will isn't surprised to find Hannibal cooking dinner. The whole wagging mob charges around Will's knees and goes to him, pleased to see him upright and hoping for treats. Will follows.

“So,” Will says, wrapping his arms around Hannibal's waist from behind, “can I have the minutes of the meeting?”

Hannibal laughs, turning to kiss Will before going back to his project. It looks like they're having meat pie tonight, something Will is nearly always in favor of. As Hannibal flutes the crust like goddamn Martha Stewart, he tells Will about the meeting. It had the same format they always do, voices and tactile impressions in the darkness of Hannibal's skull. Sometimes he sees the others, but that has only happened a handful of times in their lives.

“Well,” Hannibal says, neatly slitting the top crust, “the Cannibal has demanded more frequent ride-alongs and some time in front if we're going to expect him to help with the Sin-Eater. Since he's instrumental in preventing physical harm, we're probably going to have to give on this one, even if we really don't like letting him front.”

“You say he's completely amoral, but he must be smart enough to make a deal,” Will says. “He doesn't want physical harm either, and he doesn't want me to leave or be dead. We can probably trust him a _little_.”

“Dr. Lecter and I are worried that he'll forget himself,” Hannibal says. “Little Sister says that we're being mean, of course. She has taken up the Sin-Eater's interests, since he won't advocate for himself.”

Will chuckles, releasing Hannibal so he can put the pie in the oven and start gathering side dish ingredients. “She's such a nice kid.”

“She is. And much as the Sin-Eater may loathe us, I don't think he'll have the heart to hurt Little Sister. She wants him to come along while she does something nice. I was thinking I would give them the first half of Saturday, if you didn't mind. Here, spin this lettuce.”

Will accepts the spinner, and speaks over the whine of it working as he turns the crank. “I don't mind, but maybe like, gently hint to her that I really don't like Lady Lovely Locks?”

“Would you prefer Sailor Moon?” Hannibal asks, carefully slicing apples. He doesn't look up from his task, and he doesn't sound the slightest bit sarcastic.

“Definitely,” Will says, and stops the spinner, setting it beside Hannibal's cutting board. “That show at least has some action.”

“You know, inexplicable hair growth is a plot point in the manga.”

“Shit,” Will says, pouring himself some whiskey, “the whole story _is_ about puberty. Drink?”

“Please,” Hannibal says, and then gives each dog a scrap of meat before gently shooing them out so he can work unobstructed. 

Will goes with them, leaving Hannibal's drink at his elbow. He has some articles he needs to read for work, and settles on the couch with the dogs piled around him as the house fills with the smell of Hannibal's cooking. Will relaxes into his task, fascinated by this article on a study trying to discover the difference between incest survivors who go on to perpetrate, and those who are repulsed by the idea. He probably won't assign it, but there are a few students who might be interested.

“Will, darling,” Hannibal calls, like a sitcom wife, “dinner!”

Will chuckles, and puts his papers in order, dropping his empty glass off at his place setting to be refilled with the expensive mineral water Hannibal likes so much as he goes into the kitchen to wash his hands. The dogs may get more tidbits these days, but they're still polite, and reform their pile on the couch while Will and Hannibal eat, confining their begging to long, soulful looks.

After dinner Hannibal hands around scraps of pie crust, baked crisp. The dogs accept them with grateful wagging, and Hannibal coos at them, scratching them behind the ears and assuring them that they are lovely dogs. He and Will clean the kitchen, and by the end of the process, Hannibal has a tense, nervous aspect that reminds Will of himself in public on a bad day.

“Will?”

“Yes?”

“The Cannibal wants out. If you agree, Dr. Lecter will be riding along for safety, but I can't promise that he won't be... wild.”

“You see the picture I sent him?”

Hannibal chuckles. “There may be five of us, but you're the madman here.”

“I love you too, baby,” Will says, and Hannibal's head dips forward like he's falling asleep on his feet, the fingers of his open hands twitching like dying spiders. 

Will barely has time to see this happening before Hannibal's hands still and he raises his head. Will gasps, because his eyes are deep red. Each persona has its way of affecting their shared body, but it's usually something like Little Sister's fluffy hair, or the Sin-Eater's knobbly spine, not a pair of undeniable, burning eyes. Hannibal stands lightly, shoulders hunched just a little but somehow looking bestial, his hair shaggy where it falls into his face. He licks his lips, and grins at Will, a slow, leisurely unfurling that exposes teeth that seem so much sharper, now.

“Mr. Graham, I presume?” he purrs, and Will laughs, feeling a little weak in the knees. The dogs are alert on the couch, but they look more curious than worried.

“Hi,” Will says, his voice a little husky. “Do you have a name, or just the title?”

The Cannibal chuckles, prowling up to Will and sliding his arms around his waist, pulling him close. “I need a name no more than any other beast,” he says, hands slipping under Will's shirt like they belong there. Will whimpers, and just leans into him for a long moment, breathing in his scent and feeling the beat of his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal has always been physically strong. Even Little Sister can beat Will in arm-wrestling, and she has the least muscle power out of the five. Now the Cannibal scoops Will up like he weighs nothing, and carries him to bed. Will usually prefers to send the dogs away or go upstairs, but it's hard to do either with the Cannibal stripping him like a hyperactive kid unwrapping a birthday present, panting and growling and biting each new bit of revealed skin.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growls, and rolls Will onto his belly with a kind of frantic greed that Will has never felt from Hannibal, even at his most desperate. It's terrifying but it also gets him hard in a matter of seconds, and he struggles out of his pants to hump the bed a little as the Cannibal sits up between his legs to pull off his shirt and fling it aside. 

Will shouldn't be surprised when the Cannibal dives into rimming him immediately, but he jumps and yelps, trying to stammer something about needing a shower and then forgetting every word he has ever known as the Cannibal buries himself in Will's ass, purring and growling and making little moaning noises like Will is some kind of incredible delicacy. He licks deeper and deeper, like he really is trying to reach Will's heart, and there's nothing Will can do but clutch the pillow and try not to actually squeal.

“Tasssty,” the Cannibal purrs, and bites Will's left cheek, holding him open so wide it's almost painful. Will groans and hides his face in the pillow, blushing as the Cannibal gives his hole a slow, wet kiss before plunging his tongue inside again. “Always want to do this,” he mumbles against Will's skin, “always want to eat you out because your hole is so fucking _sweet_...”

Will makes some garbled noise in his throat as Hannibal laps at the underside of his balls, somehow more turned on than ever and also a little queasy as the Cannibal goes on, about how this is the closest to gutting Will that he can get out without hurting him, that if he can't crack Will open and climb inside for real, that this will have to do. He has a real gift for imagery, growling about wanting to enshrine each of his organs as he lubes up and slides into Will.

“They must be as beautiful as the rest of you,” the Cannibal says, husky voice sounding lost as he sinks deeper and deeper into Will's body. “Each one a microcosm of perfection.” He bites the back of Will's head, and that's so weird that he laughs, even as the Cannibal pulls back and then pushes in again, grinding along all the right spots.

“You g-gonna eat my brain?” Will gasps, and the Cannibal laughs, speeding up, hauling Will up onto his knees.

“No,” he says, “but it's tempting, like pink sugar candy.”

“You are so _weird_!” Will yelps, his laughter turning into a low groan as the Cannibal rams into him again and again at just the right angle. Will wonders if that's Dr. Lecter's perfect aim again, or if the Cannibal is managing this on his own. 

He plants his hands on the mattress and pushes up and back, biting his lip and then letting it go to cry out again and again as the Cannibal grabs his hair and fucks him hard. He starts talking about how delicious Will is again, but Will can't really listen to him, too consumed by his own pleasure and by what he knows he must be giving the Cannibal, thrilled by his own submission to all this strangeness. When he reaches around with one rough hand that seems larger and stronger than ever, Will sobs, coming the second the Cannibal touches his cock, in a long and unbearable paroxysm of pleasure as sharp as the pain of being cut.

“Doc says I gotta pull out,” the Cannibal growls, and Will lets out a weak laugh, pulling forward off of him as he grumbles. 

Will rolls onto his back, reaching for the Cannibal. “C'mere.” He would offer to blow him, but since they've reached the barebacking point, there's no way in hell he's doing that until the Cannibal (or more likely one of the others) washes his dick. As it is, the Cannibal just drizzles lube on Will's chest, rhapsodizing about how smooth he is as he straddles him, rocking his hips and growling as he fucks Will's chest. Of course he starts talking about Will's gorgeous red heart, but Will was expecting something like that and just grips the Cannibal's ass, luxuriating in the way he moves.

Nothing actually alarms Will until one of those strong hands wraps around his throat and squeezes. Not very hard, he has to admit. He can still breathe, but he uses that breath to say, “Red!” in an urgent whisper-yell.

For a moment the Cannibal doesn't seem to even register that Will has spoken, and then those red eyes flicker to Dr. Lecter's almost-hazel for a moment and the Cannibal's grip loosens. “Stop everything?” he asks, still hard and looking more bestial than ever.

Will shakes his head. He knew this would get weird, and feels safer now. “It's okay. Come on.” He urges the Cannibal's hips forward and he growls, starting to thrust again. His puts his hands in Will's, not so much pinning him as letting him account for them, and Will kisses each one in turn.

Within a minute or two, the Cannibal is coming right over Will's heart with a harsh, wild cry that makes his pulse speed up. Still shaking, he climbs off of Will, stretching out beside him. He bites and sucks what must be a truly vicious mark into the side of Will's neck, and the pain just makes him moan.

“There,” he says softly, letting go and kissing it. “I like you wearing my marks.”

“I mostly wear collared shirts to work anyway,” Will mumbles, and the Cannibal laughs, gathering Will into his arms. He holds him in possessive way that reminds Will of a child with a toy. He enjoys it even if it's a little rough, and he sighs, resting his head on the Cannibal's chest and closing his eyes.

“Will?” the Cannibal murmurs after just stroking his hair for a quiet eternity.

“Yeah?” he doesn't open his eyes, knowing that he's still talking to the Cannibal by the way his muscles rest, and the low growl of his voice.

“I... I think I'm sorry for scaring you,” he says, still petting Will. “Sorry's like when you eat bad meat, right?”

Will thinks about the way guilt can manifest as nausea, and nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “You probably are. It's okay, I knew something like that might happen.”

“Still,” the Cannibal mutters, “I don't like it.”

“It's okay,” Will says. “No harm done.”


	7. Chapter 7

Will naps until Hannibal prods him awake. “You need to shower and clean your teeth,” he says, and Will rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Mom.” He sits up and yawns, stretching his arms over his head. Hannibal watches him, radiating concern. “I'm all right,” Will says. “He didn't hurt me at all. And hope you've brushed _your_ teeth.”

“Half an hour ago. Now get up.”

Will chuckles, rolling to his feet and shuffling to the bathroom. Checking in the shower, he finds that the Cannibal has left a lot of pretty impressive marks on him, though of course the one on his neck is the crown jewel, already bruised nearly black. The hot water keeps Will drowsy, and he's yawning as he shuffles back out to join Hannibal, who is smoothing down the covers as the dogs wait. Early on, Hannibal had been very pleased to find them already trained to do that. Now he looks up and smiles at Will, the expression a little rueful around the edges.

“I suppose someone who looks so satisfied has no regrets?”

“Pretty much,” Will says, kissing his cheek. “You let the dogs out?”

“I did,” Hannibal says. “Everyone should be able to make it to morning.”

“Good.” Will shuffles around to crawl into bed on the other side, looking over to be sure that the nightlight is on for Little Sister. It is, and Will curls up, making a happy little noise when Hannibal turns the reading lamp off and wraps himself around him.

“I love you,” Hannibal says softly, one of those secret declarations that are just between the two of them. 

Will presses a kiss to Hannibal's palm. “I love you, too.”

“All of us,” Hannibal says, kissing Will's neck. “I know.”

“Good,” Will mumbles, snuggling down into the pillow as a few of the dogs hop up onto the bed. Will always lets them work out their own rules as long as no one is getting bitten and everyone is allowed to eat in peace. Hannibal chuckles, shifting to let one accommodate some member of the pack.

“Better?” he asks it, and a tail thumps on the bed in response. Will sighs, the soft breathing of happy dogs lulling him to sleep.

Will always has better dreams when he sleeps with Hannibal, and this night is no exception. It's something so warm and silly that even though he can't remember details, he wakes up with a smile on his face. Hannibal is rattling around the kitchen and singing in Italian, and Will laughs at the complete and wonderful madness of his life.

“Eggs Benedict today,” Hannibal tells him, and then gets back to trilling what might be the girl's half of one of the duets in La Boheme.

Will rolls out of bed, greeting each of the dogs. He and Hannibal have been living together long enough that whoever wakes first feeds the dogs, and even Little Sister could probably be trusted to do it in a pinch. Will uses the extra time to shower and shave properly, which is so fiddly and uncomfortable that it makes him remember why he he goes around with stubble so much of the time.

Still, Hannibal does appreciate the effort, nuzzling Will's smooth cheek and then ordering him to the table, because the eggs are ready and must not go even ten seconds longer. He's right, as always, and breakfast is perfect. Will savors it, because today is Friday. Little Sister will be his breakfast companion tomorrow, and that means sweet, pretty things. Will isn't actually very good at making food pretty, but Hannibal has taught him some basic skills, as well as investing in a Hello Kitty Toaster. There are times that Will really wishes Little Sister could at least tolerate the smell of cooking meat. Not that he can blame the kid.

Hannibal smiles as if he knows what Will is thinking. “I made strawberry sugar for tomorrow,” he says. “I'm sure Little Sister would appreciate its liberal use on whatever you serve.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Will tells him, cutting up his last few bites. “You've spoiled me, Hannibal,” he adds, and Hannibal laughs.

“Someone has to, dearest.”

“Still,” he says, “I wanna do something in return.” 

Their next definitely-scheduled Date Night is for weekend after next, and it's technically Will's turn to pick, but he cedes it to Hannibal, who is delighted not to have to go to the opera alone when one of his favorite sopranos is going to sing Tosca. He leaves Will with a long kiss, and Will feels strangely happy for someone whose boyfriend is partially suicidal. Then again, it's not like the Sin-Eater isn't out-voted four to one.

Whatever happens, life must go on, and Will walks the dogs and then sets up the various amusements he leaves them day to day, such as puzzles with treats in them and near-indestructible chew toys. He informs them all that they are good dogs, and charges them to guard the house. He makes it to work just in time for his first class, and the day passes typically until Will's lunch break, when the Cannibal sends him a text:

_ill b the 1 u come home 2 bby_

Will blinks at this, and sends a question:

_you mean timeshare?_

_yeah doc will b riding along_

_kisses u tasty thing_

Will chuckles, and sends his assent back. Hannibal time has been thin on the ground lately, but the Cannibal has only just started being allowed out, and Will hates to make him stay back when the others are okay with him coming forward. He wonders if he'll come home to raw steak for dinner, or just need to do his own cooking.

In the evening, Will arrives home to excited dogs wrestling with a naked wildman, and the smell of one of the stews Hannibal makes when he feels particularly lazy or cold. The Cannibal looks up at him with those uncanny eyes, grinning.

“Hannibal let me buy us some presents today,” he says, rising to his feet to pull Will into a rough, consuming kiss that leaves him a little breathless when it's over. 

He leans on the Cannibal, his heart pounding. “Oh? What kind of presents?”

The Cannibal grins at him, ducking his head to nibble Will's jawline in that endearing way he has. “The kind of presents that I wear but that are really for you,” he says, and Will shivers.

“Happy Friday to me,” he mutters, and goes to find a place for his bag and to check in with the dogs as the Cannibal goes to check on the food, which is nearly ready.

The Cannibal does not bother to dress for dinner, and Will is fascinated by the play of muscle from his jaws on down as he eats.


	8. Chapter 8

The Cannibal would pounce on Will right after dinner, but Will, Hannibal, and Dr. Lecter all agree that the dishes must be at least rinsed, and the leftovers put away. It's a very strange experience, to do these domestic chores with the Cannibal watching like he wants to eat Will, half-hard and still as naked as the dogs. Will knows that his face is flushed as he finally finishes straightening up the kitchen.

“Okay,” he says, washing his hands and wondering if he's going to be tackled into the sink, “that should do it.”

“Then I should get dressed,” the Cannibal says, getting up from the pile he and the dogs have formed on the floor.

“Let's do this upstairs, okay?” Will says. “I feel weird when the dogs watch.”

“As you like,” the Cannibal purrs, prowling over to bite Will's neck before heading upstairs. He stalks lightly along on the balls of his feet, and Will is sort of hypnotized by the sway of his ass as he makes his ascent. Once the Cannibal is out of sight, Will takes a deep breath, makes sure none of the dogs need to pee and gives everyone a treat, and then goes upstairs, wondering what in the hell the Cannibal will be wearing when he gets there.

The light is on in the bedroom he and Hannibal usually use, and Will takes another deep, steadying breath, and then quietly opens the door. The first thing he notices is that almost half a box of emergency candles have been sacrificed for ambiance, and Will hopes that one of his boyfriend remembered to replace them. In the same instant he looks at the Cannibal, who is glowing gold in the candlelight, the lower half of his face obscured by heavy-duty black leather that matches the collar Hannibal already owned, and the new pair of bondage mitts that cover him up to the elbow. Each one has a silver clip to allow it to be attached to a ring, such as the one on the front of the collar.

“Is that--”

“I am a dangerous beast,” the Cannibal says from behind the bars over his mouth, “and I must be muzzled.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Will breathes, and he's pretty sure the Cannibal is smiling behind his muzzle. He offers his mitt-clad hands to Will, who clips them to the collar's o-ring, his heart pounding. “Fuck. Just... here.” He sits the Cannibal down on the bed and then pushes him onto his back, shifting him so that his head is by the head and his feet by the foot. He presses a kiss to the Cannibal's forehead before stepping back to pull his own clothes off, and the Cannibal wriggles happily, making a strangely sweet little noise in his throat.

Will smiles down at him as he steps out of his pants and damp underwear. “It's so weird that you're cute, you know that?”

The Cannibal laughs, spreading his legs. “I want you inside me, we can discuss philosophy later.”

“Can we really?” Will asks, bringing out their enormous pump bottle of lube.

“No, philosophy bores me,” he says, and Will laughs, slicking his fingers. “You can talk about it with Hannibal and the doctor.”

“I do hope this is helping you three get along,” Will says, stretching out beside the Cannibal and going straight for his hole because dinner was fucking foreplay and they've had enough. 

Two fingers slide in easily and the Cannibal groans, tugging uselessly at his collar and rocking his hips, taking Will's fingers as deep as he can get them. Hannibal has always enjoyed bottoming, but the Cannibal seems to _need_ it, writhing and groaning and always begging for more, wanting to be stretched wider, fucked deeper.

Will can't do anything but curse breathlessly and oblige, all four fingers buried up to the knuckles. He pulls back a little and adds more lube before holding rock steady and letting the Cannibal grind himself down on that ridge. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning into the pressure. “You know where you are, right?”

“Want it all,” the Cannibal moans, and his cock twitches, wetness beading at the tip. 

Will whimpers, and lines up the tip of his thumb, slicking his hand to the wrist. He's not sure Hannibal's body is up to the Cannibal's desires, but he might as well be prepared. The Cannibal groans and pushes down, and all Will has to do is sit there spellbound and speechless, providing resistance.

Things happen pretty quickly once the Cannibal is over Will's knuckles. He cries out and then gets louder and more wild as he slides over the knuckle of Will's thumb, and swallows his hand up to the wrist. Will whimpers, staring down at the impossible accommodation the Cannibal's body has just made. The rim of his hole clings to Will's wrist, and he's crying out every time he has the breath to do it, panting under the muzzle.

Will swallows hard, and balls his hand into a fist. He does it slowly, and the Cannibal groans like a dying man, the long muscles quivering in his thighs.

“God, you're gorgeous,” Will breathes, leaning in to kiss Hannibal's cheekbone, right at the edge of the muzzle. The Cannibal whimpers, and then wails as Will carefully thrusts forward. “Good?” he asks, and the Cannibal nods, red eyes huge.

“Will, Will, fuck me!” he wails, yanking at his collar again. It holds, and he melts into the mattress, submitting completely to being fucked on Will's fist in short, deep strokes. 

His mouth hangs open behind the bars as Will forces loud and inhuman noises out of him. The Cannibal is mostly soft again, but he has made no request to stop, and in fact starts begging Will not to, so he speeds up and goes a little harder, amazed at how soft and hot the Cannibal is around him. His uncanny eyes roll back in his head as Will pulls out until the knuckle of his thumb is just catching at his rim before plunging in again. He does it over and over, making the Cannibal open for him.

Will isn't sure when he starts talking, but soon he sounds just like the Cannibal, telling him how fragile he feels, and how Will wants to hold his heart in his hand, caress the twitching muscle, and own it. It's pretty fucked up, but of course the Cannibal just moans and comes all over himself. It goes on for a long, long time, his whole body shaking and his cock pulsing again and again as his wailing turns into soundless convulsions, red eyes huge and blind.

By the time Will starts easing his hand out, he's shaking, and feels less controlled than he would like. “I really hope I can fuck you,” he says, and the Cannibal laughs, caressing Will's sides with his feet.

“Please,” he growls, and Will groans, scrabbling for wet wipes to clean his hands. He throws the box to the ground and ranges over the Cannibal, who sighs as Will slides into him with incredible ease, his hole still stretched. He wraps his legs around Will's hips, pulling him in tightly and making little noises of pleased pain as Will just shamelessly uses him, too far gone for finesse. He comes within two minutes, groaning and collapsing beside the Cannibal, not wanting to crush his bound arms. The Cannibal just purrs and wriggles, apparently very content to remain where he is.


	9. Chapter 9

The Cannibal partially pays for his time in front by helping Will clean up and put everything safely away in the closet, as well as taking a long shower and applying some soothing cream that Dr. Lecter apparently insisted upon in the event of fisting.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time, huh?” Will asks, as the Cannibal plants one foot on the bed and purrs as he works the lotion in, his idea of 'application' much more akin to 'fingering.'

“Such a long time,” he purrs. “Since we first saw you.”

Will shivers. “Jesus.”

“Wants nothing to do with me, I'm sure,” the Cannibal says, grinning. He cleans his fingers and yawns, stretching happily. “I'll go check on the dogs,” he says. “Doc wants you to change the sheets, but I don't care and Hannibal isn't saying anything.”

“I'll do what I can,” Will assures him, and he bounces down the stairs, clucking and cooing to the dogs in Lithuanian. Will chuckles, and manages to shower and change the bed before the Cannibal returns. His skin is flushed and he's panting lightly, grinning like the dogs that follow him into the room.

“Were you out there buck naked and chasing my dogs in circles?”

“Yep!” the Cannibal says, and crawls into bed. Will has to laugh, and once he joins the Cannibal, the dogs form a pile around them, those who can't fit settling on the floor, tails gently thumping.

One thing that seems to affect all personalities equally is the deep sleep of the well-fucked, and Will wakes up a good two hours earlier. He spends the time setting up his mise en place for strawberry sugar Hello Kitty toast and vegetable frittata and then feeding the dogs and making coffee and cocoa.

Little Sister doesn't own very many dresses, simply because the combination of her body size and her taste means that Hannibal has to special-order them for her, but she's wearing one of them when she comes bouncing down the stairs even more lightly than the Cannibal.

“Good morning!” she cries, eyes bright. They look almost golden when Little Sister fronts, a beautiful, warm color. She's a happy blur of pink as she darts over to hug Will, who barely has time to set his coffee down so she doesn't spill it when she barrels into his chest, giggling. 

He chuckles and holds her tightly. “You hungry, kiddo?”

“We're real hungry, the Sin-Eater never eats!”

The Sin-Eater apparently does never eat, because Little Sister puts away enough eggs, toast, and cocoa for four people, and does it without a trace of discomfort. She does want to sit quietly afterward, though, and so they watch Sailor Moon uncut and in Japanese. Little Sister can't read, but she knows Japanese and Lithuanian because of the shared language pool. Will needs the subtitles so that he can give his opinion when Little Sister solicits it. Yes, Sailor Moon's outfit is very pretty, and yes, the Sin-Eater is silly for feeling bad for liking things that are pretty.

“He needs hugs,” Little Sister says, and plants herself in Will's lap. He hugs her tightly, and then lets go with one arm to keep sipping his coffee as Usagi discovers that she's the Moon Princess. Will has never understood how that's even a mystery when she's Sailor _Moon_ , but whatever. This is way better than Lady Lovely Locks. Will cuddles Little Sister and watches four episodes with her, wondering what, if anything, the Sin-Eater is getting out of this.

By the time the last episode finishes, Buster is standing by the door and looking expectant. Little Sister gleefully runs out with the pack at her heels. Will laughs and ambles onto the porch, sipping his coffee and watching the dogs play with Little Sister, taking breaks to refresh all their usual markings.

Once Will has finished his coffee, he joins them, helping the dogs chase Little Sister and being chased in his turn. They make several circuits of the house before they have to stop, panting and laughing, dogs included in their silent, canine way. Will herds everyone back inside and asks Little Sister what she wants to do next, since she gets to drive until at least two pm.

Little Sister wants to play dolls, which means that Will ends up stretched on his belly on the floor, making Hannibal's antique oiran doll hop along next to Little Sister's rag doll, the two of them on the way to the sun, wearing heatproof dresses. There's no sense in mentioning the gravity problem, and Will sort of enjoys pretending to pick sunfruits.

“No!” Little Sister says suddenly, brows contracted in anger. Will blinks at her, because all the oiran did was ask if Soft Girl wanted to stay longer on the sun, or go to the moon. “Soft Girl is good, you be quiet!”

“Are you talking to the Sin-Eater, baby?”

“Yes, and he wants to hurt Soft Girl for being bad, and she's not bad!”

“Nope,” Will agrees, “not a bit.” Soft Girl is a very simple doll, one of Dr. Lecter's first gifts to Little Sister, and Will hates to think of her being punished. She looks up at them now with big green button eyes, and Little Sister hugs her tightly. Will lets her do that for a while, and then says, “should we do something else, honey?”

She nods. “Yes.”

It's not even noon yet, plenty of time left for Little Sister to do what she likes. What she likes is to make cupcakes, and while that's usually a mess, this time Little Sister is much neater, more focused, and more adult. While the cakes are baking, the Sin-Eater comes closer to the front, and Little Sister carefully reorganizes the silverware drawer, humming happily to herself as she does. Once that's done, she starts sorting the canned goods, and Will does his best not to laugh and disturb them.

While the cupcakes cool, the Sin-Eater helps mix frosting colors without making the usual huge mess, and then steps back so that Little Sister can pipe bright, lopsided flowers onto the top of each one, singing softly in Lithuanian. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, and Will hums along as he puts spirals and spots on the cakes magnanimously reserved for him. Even with the Sin-Eater's best efforts, by the time all the cupcakes are frosted, Little Sister has frosting in her hair, and she giggles when Will tells her that she's a mess and needs a bath.

“With bubbles?” she asks, and Will smiles.

“Sure, kiddo. With bubbles.”

Hannibal being Hannibal, there are three kinds of bubble bath on hand, and Will offers all of them to Little Sister as he fills the tub. She considers it very seriously, and then chooses freesia, watching in fascination as Will pours it in and the bubbles mound up under the faucet.


	10. Chapter 10

Will has bathed Little Sister before. She likes it, and Dr. Lecter says that every time she emerges from a bathtub whole and unharmed, it heals them all that tiny bit more. Will has read the file, he knows about the old-fashioned copper tub and what was cooked in it. His bathtub is also old-fashioned, but cast iron covered in porcelain, standing on four paws. Little Sister loves the paws, and now she sings a little song to herself about how all the best baths have feet as Will chuckles and carefully, carefully washes her hair.

It's always a little strange, to have real, tactile knowledge of how short and straight it is, nothing like the golden curls Little Sister apparently has in the Interior, which is how Hannibal and the others refer to their shared mental space. Still, baby shampoo foams just as well as it would in longer hair, and this makes it easier to keep it out of Little Sister's eyes. She giggles up at him, her head tipped back to let Will rinse her hair, and he smiles back, pouring cups of bathwater over her head until all the lather is gone.

“There you go,” he says at last, and helps her dry off with a fluffy white towel, holding her arm as she steps out of the tub. He drapes her little pink robe over her shoulders and then pulls off his damp shirt, hanging it over one shoulder. Little Sister doesn't splash much, but some things are inevitable.

“Will?” she says as they leave the bathroom, sounding quietly perturbed as she takes his hand.

“Yes, honey?” Previously Little Sister's concerns have included whether or not butterflies dream, and if teacups feel pain when they break, but these days Will is more worried about Interior matters.

Little Sister makes an unhappy noise, and crams her thumb into her mouth for a while. Will has learned not to push when she gets like this, and settles on the couch with her in his lap. Winston comes up with a look of concern on his face, tail giving a few solicitous little wags.

“The Sin-Eater's _crying_ ,” Little Sister says at last, and she sounds so confused and upset that Will hugs her even more tightly, and kisses her cheek. “I wanted him to have a nice time!” she says, lower lip wobbling.

“Baby, baby,” Will says, rocking her a little, “it's not your fault. You wanna trade spots for a minute?” 

He's probably not supposed to coax the Sin-Eater out, but there's nothing sharp within reach, and he's not going to let a child deal with the Sin-Eater on her own. Not that she's ever really alone, but still. Little Sister's fingers start to twitch, and then her whole body feels gaunt and taut, and it shakes with sobs.

“No no no no no no no no...” It's a dull, hopeless litany that makes Will's skin crawl, but he hugs the Sin-Eater tightly.

“Tell me what's wrong.” He doesn't ask, because he has a feeling that the Sin-Eater will do better with orders.

“Bad,” he whimpers, “we're bad and wrong and no no no no no no no...” 

He digs his nails into his forearms until Will takes his hands, putting his own flesh in the way. The Sin-Eater stops clawing, even if he keeps up his miserable droning. A straight denial will bounce off and the Sin-Eater doesn't do reason, and so Will just starts rocking him, humming the lullaby Hannibal taught him for Little Sister. At first it seems to have no effect, but after a little while the Sin-Eater goes silent, and relaxes just a little in Will's arms.

“You're not bad,” Will says softly, “and there's nothing wrong with how you are.” He looks around and then feels something like divine inspiration. “I have a job for you,” he says, and the Sin-Eater perks up enough that Winston smiles, wagging his tail for real, now.

Maybe it's all the moving as a kid, but now that he stays in one place, Will accumulates a lot of crap. His job provides its own share, and he has an entire filing cabinet's worth of case studies, newspaper clippings, xeroxes, and printouts that cover an incredibly variety of different cases, conditions, and theories. He has been meaning to haul it out and put it into order since before he met Hannibal, and now he drags the cabinet into the living room and tells the Sin-Eater to get to work.

With a set task, he seems almost happy. Still wearing Little Sister's pink robe, he lays everything out in a big, radiating mess, humming some weird, slow dirge to himself as he organizes everything, using the labels and folders and colored tabs that Will has been sitting on for almost as long as he has been meaning to organize the cabinet. He crosses his legs and simultaneously hunches forward in a way that makes Will amazed at his flexibility, and his bones stand out in the way Hannibal's don't. 

The other personalities wear Hannibal's gauntness as something meant to be, a simple lack of superfluous flesh. The Sin-Eater looks pathetic, starved and sharp, like no one has fed him properly in years. It makes Will want to fix that, and he goes into the kitchen, smiling to see a note from Hannibal, propped up against one of the pomegranates in the fruit bowl.

_Will,  
Please cut a cup and a half of mirepoix, and if it's after 11:00 am, set the oven for 400._

_Love,  
Hannibal_

Will smiles, and pours himself and the Sin-Eater a glass of water, bringing it to him as part of a last check-in before he starts doing Hannibal's prep work. The Sin-Eater looks up when Will approaches, and smiles. It's a painful smile, shy and guilty, and Will kneels beside him, setting both glasses onto a clear patch of floor. Order is rising from chaos, a quarter of the stuff docketed and labeled already.

“Wow. You have everything you need?”

“Y-yes,” the Sin-Eater says, and glances at the water. “May I?” and it's not like when Hannibal is being cute, he really seems to think there's a possibility that Will has poured two glasses of something and neither of them are for him.

“You may,” Will says, feeling an aching fondness that reminds him so much of the way he feels for abused dogs. Kit had been like this, afraid that Will's kindness was just another bid to hurt him somehow. The Sin-Eater takes a cautious sip, and then smiles in a way that looks like Little Sister.

“There's mint in it,” he says, voice soft and childish but not actually Little Sister's voice. Will smiles, glad to see that she's happy.

“Is Little Sister enjoying herself?”

“She likes the mint,” the Sin-Eater says, staring down in the cup like he's too shy to meet Will's eyes. “And all the colorful tabs. I'm not letting her look at any of the pictures.”

“Good boy,” Will says before he can help himself, and the Sin-Eater blushes. “If you and she are both having a good time, I'll go get to work on lunch.” The Sin-Eater nods, and Will stands and ruffles his hair before going back to the kitchen.


	11. Chapter 11

The Sin-Eater takes a break to let Hannibal saute the mirepoix and add it to the prepared casserole, which he does with his usual deft touch. Will has chopped everything small enough for once, and Hannibal smiles when he turns away from the oven to kiss Will. It's slow and intimate, but not very filthy, in deference to the Sin-Eater and Little Sister, both so close to the front.

When they part, Hannibal laughs, happy and disbelieving. “You know, Will, the Sin-Eater didn't even complain that time.”

The Sin-Eater always complains about Hannibal's filthy, sodomitic exploits, which include such deviant acts as holding Will's hand and kissing his cheek. Will can only assume that this is a sign of progress.

“I'll be back in forty-five minutes,” Hannibal says, kissing Will again and then pulling away, fingers twitching and head drooping as the Sin-Eater comes to the front again. He's blushing furiously, and scurries back out to his task without a word. Will can't help but wait for some kind of self-harm, but apparently the situation is under control. The Sin-Eater starts his quiet droning again, and Will puts together side dishes as the beef stew slowly warms and finishes cooking.

Right on time, Hannibal stands and stretches, every line of his body revealing that he's back at the helm. “Will, darling, do I have time to change?”

“Sure,” Will says, and Hannibal vanishes upstairs, returning in slacks and a t-shirt, hair neatly gelled to the side. He comes straight to Will and hugs him from behind, holding him tightly.

“You love us,” he says after a long silence. “Do you know how precious that is?”

“...I hadn't really thought about it,” Will says, turning in his arms to rest his face in the crook of Hannibal's neck, arms around his shoulders.

“Of course not,” Hannibal says, sounding like he's talking to himself. “Will,” he says, tone conversational again, “to call you a gem is an insult to your perfection.” He nuzzles into Will's hair, breathing in his scent. Lunch isn't in any danger of burning, so they just stand there like that for a long time.

“I've missed you,” Will says quietly, and Hannibal sighs.

“I know, my darling boy. Hopefully soon we'll have the Sin-Eater on a more even keel.”

“I hope so. He's not really a bad guy.”

Hannibal chuckles, the sound a little sad. “No, he's not. He's obnoxious and he hurts us and he frightens Little Sister sometimes, but he hurts so much. I am who I am because he hurts, I know it's not right to resent him. No matter how annoying he gets.”

“I think both of us resent anyone who frightens Little Sister,” Will says, releasing Hannibal when he lets go to put on a pair of oven mitts and pull the dish from the oven. Will sets the table for two, delighted to be eating with Hannibal again. Little Sister is cute and sweet, but she needs help with her food and always wants the pretty little cups and plates and gold-toned dessert spoons that are hard to wash. Dr. Lecter is actually a pretty good dinner companion, but he's all doctorish and formal, and always gives Will shit about his table manners.

Sitting down across from Hannibal, Will wonders what kind of diner the Cannibal would be. He has a feeling that the Sin-Eater would be repelled by the pleasure of good food. He chuckles, picturing him sitting in Hannibal's seat, sharp and solemn face hidden under errant hair, and asking for bread and water. Hannibal cocks his head, giving Will a curious look, and he smiles.

“Just thinking about the Sin-Eater. Does he ever eat?”

Hannibal rolls his eyes. “He'll only eat something if it's so nasty that none of the rest of us want it.” He serves both of them as Will pours them each a small glass of red wine. It's early to really get serious. They can finish the bottle tonight. “The Sin-Eater cannot bear pleasure, and the Cannibal is impervious to guilt. Therefore, the Sin-Eater ate our orphanage gruel like a good boy, and the Cannibal stole cakes.”

“And you wonder how I can love all of you,” Will says with a smile. He can see it now, the peaked little sparrow at a long, institutional table in the morning, and a wild-eyed devil with a shirt full of contraband after lights-out. “Maybe I can offer him some plain oatmeal the next time he's out.”

“As far as I know, anything else would be wasted on him,” Hannibal says. “He bubbled up by accident once at a wedding, and the cake nearly made him sick.”

“Too rich?” Will asks.

“Probably, but also too delicious. It was an excellent cake.”

'Poor thing. What did the rest of you do?”

“Dr. Lecter and I were too disoriented to do anything but keep the Cannibal from taking the reins, so Little Sister saved us all. You know how much she loves cake and pretty things, and I had already gone down the receiving line, so it was perfectly safe to let her have control for about half an hour while we sorted things out.”

“I keep feeling like I ought to take her out more, but it's hard to figure out how to manage it,” Will says, adding a little pepper to his bowl. “There are some age play clubs, but I feel like the overall atmosphere might be too adult for her.”

“Probably,” Hannibal says, “but we can ask around.”

After lunch, they take the dogs out, and Little Sister rides along as Hannibal and Will chase them around. Once everyone is panting and happy, humans including, they make a wide, sweeping loop over the fields and return to the house for drinks and for the humans to grade homework. Well, all right, Hannibal isn't grading anything, but he is reading the journal assignments Dr. Lecter gives their patients. 

Dr. Lecter understands pharmokinetics and the physiology of emotions and can remain calm no matter what terrible things patients disclose, but he would be lost without Hannibal, who was not there for med school but who actually understands his fellow human beings and all their messy and completely illogical emotions. Hannibal rides along in the office, and now Dr. Lecter rides along as Hannibal leans on Will and they both listen to 'A Room With A View' in the background, because it's one of the few films that Hannibal, Dr. Lecter, and Will all enjoy while also being able to use it for comfortable background noise.

When Will is finally able to climb out from under his pile of bluebooks, he stretches out on the floor with an old motor while Hannibal clucks and sighs and takes notes. He takes doctor-patient confidentiality seriously, but Will hears about all of his patients in general terms. Mr. Nervous is still nervous and is having extremely symbolic dreams, but Ms. Genuinely Paranoid does seem to be responding to her medication, which is wonderful.


	12. Chapter 12

Hannibal stays with Will all night, but as they're drifting down to sleep, he nuzzles Will's neck and tells him that he might wake up to Little Sister and the Sin-Eater again.

"I'll take it as it comes," Will mumbles, and Hannibal chuckles, hugging him around the waist as his thoughts wobble out of line and into dreams.

The morning is grey and rainy, and when Will opens his eyes he sees that Little Sister is cuddled up next to him, swathed in a Hello Kitty nightgown. He smiles, and just rests with her for a long moment, watching her sleep. He feels so lazy that he dozes off again, and only wakes up for good when Little Sister starts gently shaking him.

"Breakfast?" she asks, and Will nods.

"Breakfast," he says, and kisses her forehead before lurching up out of bed. Little Sister may not be interested in sexuality at all, but she is used to Will being naked, and just giggles at him as he pulls on clean underwear and glances around for a pair of real pants.

The dogs are of course delighted to see Will awake, and make a very surgical run out to pee before coming back to devour their own breakfasts as Will cooks for himself and for Little Sister. There's still strawberry sugar left, and Will sets up four coddled eggs, because Little Sister likes them. She doesn't like the wait, but an early piece of strawberry toast resigns her to it, and soon the two of them are eating their eggs as the rain intensifies, pattering against the windows.

In weather like this, even the dogs don't really want to go out, and Will settles in to work on his current fly while Little Sister plays some quiet and inscrutable game with Soft Girl. The sound of the rain makes pretty good background noise, but after an hour or so Will switches on the TV. It came with the house and they don't use it much, but the insipid Sunday morning broadcast mixes pleasantly with the raindrops, and Will isn't paying any real attention to it when Little Sister picks up the remote and starts switching through the channels. It's unlikely that anything upsetting will be on at this day and time, and he listens with half an ear as she clicks through talk shows and paid programming.

Music is what makes Will look up at last. Church music, very high and ethereal. They seem to have hit upon a televised Catholic service, and Little Sister sits up straighter, that oddly adult expression that means that the Sin-Eater is near the surface flickering across her face. The onscreen church is full of candles, and she seems fascinated by it, moving a little closer to the screen and holding Soft Girl in her lap as they watch the congregation file up to the front to take communion.

Little Sister is so rapt and so quiet that Will doesn't say anything until the service is over, when she seems to shake herself out of a light trance. "You okay?" he asks, and she nods, hugging Soft Girl.

"The Sin-Eater wants to go back to church," she says softly, and Will blinks, because this is the first he has heard of any of Hannibal being particularly spiritual or religious.

"We can talk about that this week," he says. "Find you guys a good church and figure out who will take him there."

"I wanna go too," she says, hugging Soft Girl even more tightly. Will smiles, and gets on the floor beside her so that he can pull her into his arms. "It's scary to drink blood, but it's not _real_ blood."

Will isn't sure what a priest would say to this, what with the whole transubstantiation thing, but he takes his cue from Little Sister, and agrees, rocking her a bit. She sighs, resting her head on his shoulder, Soft Girl comfortably smushed between them. After a little while Little Sister grumbles for the Sin-Eater to be quiet, and Will chuckles.

"Is he complaining about getting hugs?"

"Yes," she says, glowering. "He won't stop being silly."

"Sometimes people are like that," Will says, kissing the top of her head. "Do you think it would be okay if he came out? After all, you got to choose breakfast and play with Soft Girl."

She looks absent for a moment, and then nods. "Dr. Lecter says it's okay," she says, and then her head suddenly dips, like someone nodding off to sleep. When she raises it again, the Sin-Eater is obviously driving. He looks gaunt and wretched, and he blushes at being so close to Will, quickly extricating himself. 

Will gives him a sad smile. "Hey."

"...H-hey," the Sin-Eater replies, and then looks down at where he's still holding Soft Girl.

"You be kind to her," Will says. "You are not allowed to hurt Soft Girl."

"Bad," the Sin-Eater mutters, but he sets the doll gently on the couch.

"Thank you," Will says, feeling the usual surge of helpless affection for the poor Sin-Eater. "Now that you're out, what would you like to do?" He immediately regrets that phrasing, but the Sin-Eater barely seems to notice, tugging at the front of the nightgown and muttering to himself.

"You can go upstairs and change, you know," Will says, and the Sin-Eater blushes again, mumbling something before standing and skittering up the stairs. Will resolves to go up after him if more than five minutes pass, but in about two he's down again, wearing slacks and a sweater. 

Will smiles at him. "There you are. Do you need a job to do?"

The Sin-Eater nods, and squirms a little bit as Will hauls out the partially-organized filing cabinet again. "Will?" he asks softly.

"Yeah?"

"Can we watch something that's sad?" He's settling onto the floor as he speaks, and starts laying out the papers again.

Will isn't sure what to make of this, but it's the first time the Sin-Eater has expressed any entertainment preference whatsoever. "Sure," he says slowly, getting up and going over to his tiny shelf of DVDs. Will has enough real horrors in his head that most of his available movies are soothing, but a little digging brings up a copy of 'Requiem For A Dream.' He thinks it might be Beverly's, but it's hard to be sure.

"What about this?" he asks, and the Sin-Eater looks up from his work. "It's about how four people ruin their lives with drugs, and the ending is such a downer that most people can't stand to watch it more than once." The Sin-Eater spends a moment in serious thought, and then nods. "Okay," Will says, and puts it on.

As the title thumps down, the Sin-Eater looks up from his work again, already rapt. Will can see it in every line of his body, and he stays almost completely still, just barely swaying to the music, so much sadder even than Will remembers it.


	13. Chapter 13

The Sin-Eater cries as if he was made to do it, and upon reflection, he probably was. Tears roll down his face without a sound, big droplets falling from the tip of his chin to be absorbed by his sweater. He glances between the screen and the bundles of papers before him, hands busy even as his tears pour. It starts about the time Sara starts diet pills, and then it doesn't stop. 

He hardly makes a sound, just soft breathing and the occasional sniffle. He doesn't acknowledge it when Will sets a box of tissues and a plastic grocery sack beside him, but he does eventually make use of them. By the end of the movie, the bag is filled with balled up tissues. Will's eyes are stinging by the end, and when the nurse is so fucking kind to Harry it's like broken glass in Will's throat. The Sin-Eater hands him the tissues, and Will laughs through his tears.

"Thanks," he says, and wipes his eyes and blows his nose as the credits roll.

"I'm sorry," the Sin-Eater says softly, and Will shakes his head, tossing the tissue into the bag before getting to his feet.

"I'm the one who's seen this before," he says, "I knew how it would make me feel." He stretches his back and his arms, looks at the piles of papers around the Sin-Eater, and smiles. "You're doing a good job," he says. The Sin-Eater just bites his lip, looking up at Will with huge eyes, so like a shy and hungry dog that Will ruffles his hair and strokes it smooth automatically, the way he would do with a dog's floppy ears.

"I hear you don't like to eat, but it's time for lunch. You wanna hand off to Little Sister for that?"

"I..." he bites his lip again and squirms, rolling onto his knees to press his head against the outside of Will's thigh, the gesture so canine that Will can't help petting him some more as he waits for him to speak. "I want to stay with you," the Sin-Eater whispers. "Just... don't feed me too richly."

"Is there anything you can't bear?" Will asks, still stroking his hair. "Like Little Sister and the smell of meat?"

"No sugar," the Sin-Eater says, and Will nods, giving the back of his neck an affectionate squeeze as he steps away.

"Okay," Will says, and steps into the kitchen to make soup for himself (and for Hannibal, later) and oatmeal for the Sin-Eater. It goes against every instinct to use water instead of milk, to say nothing of the total lack of butter and sugar. The plain oats are fluffy and have a pleasant, nutty smell, though, so this is probably a delicacy by Sin-Eater standards. Sure enough, he approaches it cautiously when Will calls him into the kitchen, hunching over the bowl to give it a cautious sniff.

"There's no sugar," Will tells him, ladling soup into his own bowl.

"Thank you," the Sin-Eater murmurs, and whispers what seems to be a quick grace over his food before taking a spoonful. He looks a little troubled at the taste of plain oats, but doesn't say anything. He eats a little more, taking small, cautious bites, and then blinks, looking incredibly confused.

"What's wrong?" Will asks.

"I... It's good." He sounds stunned and a little horrified at himself, and Will smiles sadly.

"Are you going to be able to eat it?"

"Yes," he mutters, and proves it by taking another spoonful. Plain oats are apparently almost too delicious for the Sin-Eater, but he consumes them steadily. Will relaxes a bit, working on his soup for a while before he speaks again.

"Little Sister says you want to go to Mass sometime," he says, and the Sin-Eater looks up, eyes desperately hungry.

"I do," he says softly, and Will is filled with the urge to hug him. He contains himself, barely.

"Okay. I guess this week we'll figure out which church."

"The body must do penance," the Sin-Eater adds, but he sounds matter-of-fact rather than desperate, and is still eating his oatmeal.

"Not too much penance," Will says.

"The body will submit to the priest's judgment," the Sin-Eater concedes, and Will has to smile, even if it's not a very happy one.

"That's a good boy, then," he says, and the Sin-Eater blushes a little, squirming slightly in his chair. "We need you to look after Little Sister while you're at church," Will adds. Dr. Lecter will almost certainly be watching, but it will be much harder for him to seize control with the Sin-Eater so close to the front.

"I won't hurt the body again," he whispers, setting his spoon down. "I... the body has to pay, but I can't hurt you."

Will gets up and goes around the table to put his arms around those bony shoulders, hugging the Sin-Eater tightly. "Good boy," he murmurs, and the Sin-Eater squirms again.

"Dr. Lecter likes it when you call us that," he says softly, and Will grins.

"He does, huh? It's hard to tell what Dr. Lecter likes, sometimes."

"He likes you," the Sin-Eater says, and Will chuckles.

"Good." He kisses the top of the Sin-Eater's head, and the Sin-Eater sighs.

"This is tiring," he says quietly, and it makes Will a little queasy to know that accepting affection costs the Sin-Eater so much effort.

"Let me finish my soup," Will says, going back around the table, "and then you can switch to Little Sister."

"Or me," the Cannibal says, grinning, eyes gleaming red.

Will can't help but jump at the sudden change, and then laughs. "Well, _I_ certainly don't mind you, but I wouldn't like you to upset the others."

"They're fine," he says, eying Will's bowl of soup. "Can I have some of that? It looks like it's worth eating."

"As long as it won't bother Little Sister."

"She's playing in the Interior," the Cannibal says. "If I rinse my mouth and eat something sweet before she comes back, she'll be fine."

If the Cannibal is lying the others will do something about it, so Will just reheats the pot of rich, steak and mushroom soup that would have been so appalling to Little Sister and so inedible to the Sin-Eater. He dishes up a generous bowl for the Cannibal before giving himself a little more, glad to be able to take his time over it. The Cannibal purrs and moans softly as he devours his food, too busy for conversation. The rain pounds against the windows and the sky gets even darker, making the kitchen feel even safer and more warm than it usually does.


	14. Chapter 14

On Monday morning the search for the right church begins. Will wakes up early to find Dr. Lecter already up and dressed, clicking away on his laptop. At first Will doesn't remember their project and just sits there, blinking at him, but gradually it filters back in.

"Making a shortlist?"

"I am," Lecter says, without looking up. "I was hoping that you would be able to make some calls before your first class."

Will checks the time. "Since I'm up this early anyway..."

"Thank you," Lecter says softly. "The coffee is nearly ready, would you like some?"

"Please," Will mumbles, scrubbing his face with his hands as the dogs cluster around him.

"I haven't fed them yet," Lecter says from the kitchen, "I didn't want to throw them off of their routine."

"It probably will spare us some begging at dinner," Will says, petting everyone before he gathers enough strength to lurch up into the kitchen and feed them. It's still a bit early, but nothing that will signify. Once his grateful pack is snorfling down all available food particles, Will picks up his cup of coffee. Tasting it, he finds that Lecter has already added sugar for him, and he smiles.

"Thank you, Doctor," he says, and Lecter looks up from his laptop again, almost shyly.

"You're welcome, Will."

Since he'll be leaving at least an hour later, Will takes it upon himself to cook breakfast today. Dr. Lecter can be trusted to do it, but he doesn't take Hannibal's genuine joy in cooking. He's also less likely to have to exercise wifely forbearance at the sight of his plate. Will makes perfectly edible scrambled eggs and bacon, but can't manage to present them with any elegance. Digging around in the fridge, he's touched to find his usual packed lunch, even with everything going on in the Interior.

Dr. Lecter thanks Will politely for his ugly pile of eggs and technically overdone bacon, nibbling away as he tells him that Hannibal had _insisted_ on making a proper lunch for Will as he continues to to work on his list. 

"Of course thanks to Hannibal for doing it," Will says, "but thank you for sparing the time when you have a project."

Lecter just mutters something, the tips of his ears going pink as he keeps his eyes fixed on his tablet. Will smiles to himself, eats his own breakfast in friendly silence, and does his best not to give Lecter puppy eyes when he starts packing up to leave. It must not work, because Lecter stops the near the door, and gives him a small, professional smile before his fingers twitch just a little and Hannibal's wider, much more affectionate smile spreads across his face.

"My sweet boy," he says softly, and draws Will into his arms, holding him close and rubbing his back. 

Will sighs and presses his face to Hannibal's neck, glad that he's not expected to wear makeup to work and doesn't have to worry about the gleaming white of Hannibal's shirt collar. Hannibal needs to leave within the next ten minutes or so to be on time and Dr. Lecter prefers to be early, but he takes a long moment to just envelop Will, nuzzling into his hair as he sags into Hannibal's arms.

"Soon we'll be balanced again, dearest," he says. "And whatever happens, date night this weekend."

Will chuckles. "I'll hold you to that," he mumbles, and then lifts his head enough for Hannibal to kiss him, sighing and melting into it a little. Hannibal lingers over it and presses another kiss to Will's jaw when he pulls away, looking into his eyes.

"I miss you too, sweetheart, and I am always in awe of how good you are to us."

"Dork," Will mutters, and kisses him again before letting him go, Dr. Lecter's efficient stride carrying him out the door.

Monday starts late enough that Will has time to put most of Dr. Lecter's list into his phone, and then call the various church offices as he walks the dogs in a rain that's barely more than mist. He gets a lot of helpful, friendly secretaries, and accepts emails full of hours and various programs. Will has no idea what some of this stuff even is, like the Chaplet of The Divine Mercy, but whatever, Lecter and the Sin-Eater can figure this out.

At least it's pretty easy to shorten the shortlist further. People who talk like they're cringing when he mentions needing a safe and welcoming place for a person with a mental illness and a history of trauma are a very strong sign against, and when they talk about penciling him into the priest's schedule like it's an enormous favor, that's the fucking end of it. Religion is a bad idea, as far as Will and Hannibal are concerned, only to be tolerated as long as people use it as a reason to do good. 

The thought of the Sin-Eater being left in the hands of someone who _agrees_ with him makes Will's blood run cold, and he can't seem to get away from it as he collects the dogs and makes himself presentable for class. He muses on the nature of the Sin-Eater as he drives. When Hannibal had first explained things, he hadn't even named the Sin-Eater and the Cannibal. He had said there were five of him, but that only Dr. Lecter, Little Sister, and himself were fit for company. He wonders now if the Sin-Eater ever snuck out before, or if he is even capable of doing anything but be a good boy and stay back, only knowing how to contact Will through insinuating whispers from the Cannibal and field reports from Dr. Lecter.

Will gets through his morning lectures on autopilot, and he isn't surprised at all to find a lot of messages from the numbers he called earlier, a few unknowns, and a few more from Hannibal. Like a good boyfriend, he checks those first.

_Will, this is Dr. Lecter. Respond with the last church you remember dialing, please._

Will shoots that back to him immediately, since it has a lot of repetition and is easy to remember. The next message is from Hannibal:

_i know that i ask a lot, but can we buy you a new shirt at some point before saturday night? i think it's about time._

_i'll deal with shopping for you, sugar_ , Will replies, and then chuckles at the next one, from the Cannibal:

_hey will if choirboy and the kid get church what do i get?_

_that depends on what you want, darlin_ Will sends, and sets his phone down to begin on lunch, sure that the Cannibal's request will be for something absolutely filthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weigh in on what the Cannibal wants, because it's nowhere near set in stone. All I know is that either Will is right, or the Cannibal wants some shockingly sweet and domestic thing, probably with a macabre twist. Reader poll time! :D


	15. Chapter 15

In the end, what the Cannibal wants is sort of touching, and only a bit filthy. As Will is throwing his trash away and putting the lid back on the Tupperware container he uses for a lunchbox, the Cannibal replies:

_we nvr have date night will i want 2 fix that_

_i'm game if you are_ Will sends in return, and the Cannibal replies almost immediately:

_theres clubs u should take me to on a leash dr. lecter can come 2 he likes 2 be ur good boy_

_Will, please ignore the Cannibal's insinuations._ Dr. Lecter sends a moment later, and Will laughs.

At the end of the day, Will comes home to Hannibal, which is always so nice. He's making dinner, and looking somewhere between angry and amused. Will greets the dogs on the way to him, and then wraps around him from behind.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, and Hannibal sighs, leaning back into him.

"Oh, I've just been reminded of why I gave up on religion," he says, rolling his eyes.

"Unsympathetic churches?"

"Yes. Not the least bit shocking, but it hurts a bit when I think of how earnest the Sin-Eater and Little Sister are about going."

"Well, that's why we're the ones looking," Will says, and Hannibal smiles, turning his head back to just barely kiss Will's cheek.

Over dinner they compare notes and find that they've gone through the first two-thirds of the list, already culled from Dr. Lecter's research into which Catholic churches within a certain radius even mention mental illness on their individual websites. He doesn't like to think of himself as an illness, but has swallowed his pride for the good of the system as a whole, and Will wishes that he had more to show for it. He says as much to Hannibal, who smiles and says that Dr. Lecter wants to talk to him after the meal.

Will blinks. "He does?"

"He does," Hannibal says, looking amused. "You're making a quite a conquest."

Sure enough, after they have everything cleaned up, Dr. Lecter joins Will on the couch. He looks a bit like the Sin-Eater, but those assured and educated lines around the mouth are still there, and his eyes are lighter. He sits beside Will with a ramrod straight spine, looking as awkward as he always does at times like this. 

"Hannibal said you wanted to talk to me?"

Lecter nods, and then glances over at him. "I... may I lean on you?"

"Of course you may," Will says, putting an arm around him as he does it, so heartbreakingly tentative.

"I wasn't sure you'd approve," he mumbles, still a bit stiff against Will's side.

"You can be a jerk, Lecter," Will says, "but you and Hannibal are part of each other, and that makes you my jerk." Lecter makes a tiny, strangled noise and hides his face in Will's shoulder. Unsure what to do with him, Will just rubs his back, nuzzling into his hair and wondering how in the fuck Hannibal's selves even _smell_ different sometimes, Dr. Lecter's scent tinged with something sharp and medicinal. There's not much talking going on, but he seems to be slowly calming down.

"Good boy," Will says without even thinking about it, still petting him.

Lecter whines and shivers, pressing even closer. "...Really?" he says, his voice so small that even this close, Will barely hears him.

"Yeah," he says, and kisses the top of Dr. Lecter's head, because surely that isn't too sloppy and germy for him. "You're a good boy. You work hard and always do your best." Lecter shivers and sighs, relaxing a little, and Will just holds him for a long time, quietly thanking him for his efforts in finding a church, and for being such a good brother to Little Sister and the Sin-Eater. It's kind of heartbreaking to see the way Lecter soaks the words in, and Will is more inclined than ever to agree with the Cannibal's proposal that he accompany them to any fetish club or night that they attend.

Hannibal re-emerges after a bit, simply because Lecter can only bear so many feelings, but he rides along as they cuddle into bed later. Hannibal often insists on being the big spoon, but tonight he meekly lets Will wrap around him, letting out a very Lecterish little sigh. When Will does sleep, his dreams are less vibrant and more clear than they are when he sleeps with Hannibal alone, but just as pleasant.

In the morning, Dr. Lecter is already up, broadening the geographical radius of his search with the patience of the damned as coffee brews. Will gives him an affectionate kiss on the head on his way to the kitchen, and Lecter goes slightly pink, looking as pleased as he is embarrassed. Will chuckles, and pours for both of them before putting down toast and starting some scrambled eggs, since Lecter likes them and they're easy.

There's still the rest of the initial list to go through, and Will makes those calls before work, not feeling very hopeful about the project. The dogs pick it up, and look extra doleful as he leaves, even with kongs full of cheese and a brand-new stuffed squirrel to destroy.

By the time his lunch break comes, Will wishes that he was at home with a chew toy, himself. He has had to talk to people one on one today, and when he checks his texts, he's really hoping for some freaky ones from the Cannibal. Instead, he finds his first-ever text from any religious official:

_Mr. Graham, this is Father Callahan, please call me back at the first convenient time. I'm sure that St. Dymphna's will be able to welcome your friend._

Will calls Hannibal and gets through, hitting one of the breaks in Dr. Lecter's sessions. It's the doctor who answers, but he gracefully cedes the front to Hannibal, who says that he has high hopes for a church named for their own patron saint and would like Will to call immediately, if there's enough time, and to text him the results because their next patient is only ten minutes away.

"Okay," Will says softly, suddenly missing Hannibal in a way that makes him feel ridiculous. "You and Lecter take good care of them, now."

"We'll work hard and do our best," Hannibal says, sounding incredibly fond and just as amused.

Will laughs. "That's my good boy," he says, and is still smiling when Hannibal hangs up.


	16. Chapter 16

When Will calls St. Dymphna's, the church secretary's friendly greeting is a definite step in the right direction. She even remembers Will, very glad to be able to pass him directly on to the priest this time.

"When you first called he was off doing last rites for poor old Mrs. Allen," she says, "and even with such an important task was sorry to have missed you."

"Thank you," is all Will can think to say, and then there's a click as she puts him through.

"Mr. Graham?" The voice is younger than the average priest, and he does sound glad to hear from Will.

"Yes," Will says.

"You mentioned needing a congregation that would be welcoming for a severely disturbed friend, right?"

"One severely disturbed part of him, anyway," Will says. "You would be welcoming five people, though three of them would be guests rather than believers."

"...Oh." He sounds a bit taken aback, but it is an odd situation. "Well," he says after a short silence, "I'm sure we could manage that. Who are the two who believe?"

Will sighs. "The trauma that split them is of course very personal stuff that I'll let them tell you, but it left him very guilty and killed his little sister. The personality that bears the guilt and the one that mirrors the sister are the two who are truly interested, though his professional self will probably be near the surface to keep an eye on them." He waits, then, to see if Father Callahan runs screaming or not.

"I'm sure confession would be an immense relief to the self-blaming one," Callahan says, "and well-behaved children are welcome anywhere."

Will laughs. "I don't even believe, but god bless you! We've been having a hard time."

Callahan sighs. "I'm sure you have. When is the most convenient time for you to meet?"

"I'll have to consult him about it," Will says, "but the sooner the better."

It takes a flurry of text messages to and fro, including a few transcribed for Little Sister by the others, but at last everyone agrees to meet with Father Callahan on Thursday afternoon, with Will there for moral support. He's not looking forward to it, but he knows they would do it for him.

At least St. Dymphna's is close to a dog park, so Will can bring the pack. It shouldn't take them long to brief Callahan, and then the Sin-Eater is almost certain to bound forward, panting for the chance at real confession. Once he gets started, he probably won't stop for a while. The dogs are of course delighted to get to go, and the car is a sea of wagging tails and happy grins that helps to lighten Hannibal's spirits. Dr. Lecter is simply an atheist, but Hannibal is actually disgusted by organized religion, his cynicism on the subject almost boundless. He can't help but be irritable, but no one can be unmoved by Winston's therapy dog schtick, and Hannibal lets him wriggle in under one arm and gaze soulfully at him until his patience starts to grow back.

"I"m not at all angry, Winston," he croons, rubbing the dog's floppy ears. "I just don't enjoy church."

"At least Dymphna's has some stained glass," Will points out, the spire coming into sight as they round a bend in the road. 

The church, like any other these days, has its own website, with a whole explanation of the symbolism. The windows themselves are new, but the imagery is the typical medieval stuff and not a slavish imitation of the old style. As they get closer they can see the big rose window depicting the story of Dymphna herself, emerald greens glowing in the sun. 

St. Dympha's has many depictions of their namesake being gentle and kind, but they don't shy away from the idea of her as a demon slayer, either, which makes Will think that they might conceivably understand. He pulls into the parking lot with a little unformed prayer of his own to the universe at large that this will work out, and finds some shade to park the dogs in.

Hannibal has been here all day, but it's Dr. Lecter who steps out and carefully uses a lint-roller on his suit to pick up dog hair. Will smiles at him as the dogs all sit poised in the car, ready to bolt out if Will tells them to. Instead he tells them to stay, which they take very philosophically, for dogs.

"We don't want to be late, Doctor," Will says, and Lecter obediently puts the lint roller back in his bag, taking Will's arm and standing straight and resolute as they walk up to the church. 

It makes Will feel like they're going to a wedding, and he smiles. The interior is really soothing, with high ceilings and glossy, dark pews, all bathed in the light from the rose window. The green tint and the variegated shadows make it feel like a forest, and a tension Will didn't even know he was holding relaxes. The usual tension of being out and about in the public world with humans is still there, of course, but it's at low ebb even when a primly-dressed woman at least fifteen years his senior comes bustling up to them with the kind of sweet smile that usually takes him to the edge of panic.

"Mr. Graham and Dr. Lecter?" she asks, and Will recognizes her voice. It's Callahan's secretary, so he has at least spoken to her before.

"That's us," Will says, wondering if he should have worn slacks instead of jeans, and Dr. Lecter straightens his tie.

"Good afternoon, madame," he says, and her smile widens.

"And to you too, dear," she says, offering her hand to Dr. Lecter. "I'm Cynthia Connors, Father Callahan's secretary." 

He takes it like the gentleman he is, giving it a brief, correct press and not wiping his hand when he lets go. "I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Connors."

St. Dymphna's is apparently way too new to have an actual rectory or clergy house or whatever, but Callahan has a nice, comfortable office for spiritual advising and planning events and whatever else. He stands to greet them, coming around his desk, which is the same glossy, dark wood as the pews. He can't be more than thirty-five, so hopefully he won't be a tool about the gay thing. He smiles at both them, a bit quieter than Cynthia, who tells him which of them is which and brings everyone a cup of tea as they arrange themselves at Callahan's desk. He looks at them with kind, dark eyes that Will immediately trusts. Callahan may be young, but he looks both like he has suffered, and like he knows how to deal with it. Hopefully, the Sin-Eater will be in good hands.


	17. Chapter 17

The men sitting across from him are both older than he is, but Jeremiah Callahan feels truly fatherly toward them. Will is more obviously nervous, but seems to be relaxing as he sips his tea, while Dr. Lecter sits ramrod straight, his hands resting on the satchel in his lap. He listens as Jeremiah does his best to welcome him, and then just nods, taking another polite sip of tea.

"I have brought our documentation," he says, and Jeremiah wonders again where his accent is from.

"Documentation?" he asks, and Will smiles over the rim of his cup.

"Of the events of our lives, and of our very existence," Dr. Lecter says, opening the bag and pulling out a manilla folder.

"I see," he says, sure that this coldly collected persona isn't the one seeking spiritual counsel.

Dr. Lecter opens the folder to reveal printouts that are yellowed with age, several on dot matrix paper, perforated edges still hanging on. "We may as well go in chronological order," he says. "I am actually the lastborn, though we all came into being under the same precipitating event."

And what an event it was. Jeremiah feels sick to his stomach as he listens, and reminds himself to pray for the whole Lecter family on his own time. Dr. Lecter cannot speak Mischa's name aloud, but he lets Jeremiah read it for himself, as well as the names of his parents.

"After that, Hannibal couldn't go on alone. Little Sister is what's left of our innocence and the sister's, the Cannibal is the part of us that was glad to have meat again, and the Sin-Eater carries our collective guilt. Ordinarily we don't tell people these things, Father Callahan," he says, icy hazel gaze pinning Jeremiah to his chair, "but the Sin-Eater will certainly confess the sister's murder, and we didn't want to worry you unduly."

"Thank you," Jeremiah says, studying the man across from him. It is very courteous of them to think of his feelings, however bizarre the situation. "And what are you, Dr. Lecter?"

"I am the academic and professional self," he says. "I emerged to take care of situations like this."

Jeremiah nods. "I see."

"Now that you understand the background, the believers can come forward to meet you." Will glances over at him, and Dr. Lecter smiles just a bit. "Yes," he says, "you should stay a little longer. We're sure the Sin-Eater's confession will take some time, but Will should be here for him when he comes out."

"Whatever suits all of you," Jeremiah says, and then watches in wonder as Dr. Lecter starts to nod like someone on the verge of sleep, elegant and competent hands twitching on top of the bag. Will doesn't look concerned, so Jeremiah has to assume that transitions between personalities usually look like this. It's only about five seconds before Dr. Lecter raises his head again. Or rather, someone else does, someone gaunt and furtive. He looks at Jeremiah with wide eyes, hazel gone in favor of dark brown.

"Good afternoon, my son," Jeremiah says, and the person across from him makes a tiny, hopeless noise in his throat. "Were you here while I talked to Dr. Lecter?"

"Sleeping," he says, very quietly, eyes fixed on the desktop now. "He said I could tell you, though."

"Yes," Jeremiah says, "you can tell me anything."

"Will you be all right?" Will asks, and the Sin-Eater, for so it must be, nods his head. "Okay," Will says softly, and stands up, one hand on the Sin-Eater's bony shoulder. He squeezes it gently, and then turns and walks out. The Sin-Eater watches him out, and then turns back to Jeremiah, gazing at him with those hungry eyes.

"Welcome to St. Dymphna's, Sin-Eater. I've been told that you need to confess."

"I do," he says softly, and he looks like the thought of confession is the only thing that consoles his misery.

Jeremiah smiles at him, and rises, wincing inwardly at the way the Sin-Eater scrambles to his feet. "There's plenty of time, my son," he says softly, and leads the Sin-Eater down to the confessional. They have the more modern setup for face-to-face confession, but Jeremiah has a feeling that the Sin-Eater will prefer the old-school, dark wood cabinet. He dives right into the penitent’s compartment, and then earnestly requests Jeremiah's forgiveness because it has been forty-two years since his last confession.

Understandably, it takes him a long time to list everything. First comes the oldest sin, and Jeremiah does his best not weep along with the Sin-Eater as he recounts the deaths of Hannibal's family. His sense of himself as a murderer is one thing that Jeremiah can at least start to put right.

"My son," he says through the screen, glad of its cover, "that sin was not your own. You loved your sister so much that she became a part of you, and her death was never what you wanted. Leave this to God."

The Sin-Eater dissolves completely into tears for a long time, and Jeremiah waits for him. When he resumes, the sins he confesses are much less heavy, if still serious. Of course he has missed Mass for decades, though Jeremiah points out that his responsibility is much diminished, with only partial control of his body's actions, an observation that comes in handy just a moment after he makes it.

Apparently Hannibal is in a sexual relationship with Will, which concerns the Sin-Eater very much. The homosexuality is part of his worry, but he feels guilty about masturbation and about Hannibal and Will not being married. He whimpers dismally, and whispers that he loves Will too, and that he's not sure what to do about that.

"Do you feel lust for him?" Jeremiah asks. This kind of thing is always awkward, since Jeremiah does pretty much no lusting himself.

"I.. I feel warm when I'm with him," the Sin-Eater says quietly, which doesn't sound like most other accounts.

"Love is never a sin," Jeremiah says at last, because he's sure of that much. "If you do nothing sexual with him and hold no lust in your heart, you need no absolution. And if the others choose to do differently, that is beyond your control. As long as you are not present for the sexual acts, they don't count as sins of your own."

"Thank you, Father," the Sin-Eater whispers, and then sniffles, collecting himself to speak again. Even with what Jeremiah just said, he still feels compelled to report that another personality sometimes shoplifts. Never anything above five dollars in value, Jeremiah is glad to hear, and he assures the Sin-Eater that the same rules apply to stealing as to sex.

The whole thing is exhausting, and one of the longest confessions Jeremiah has ever heard in his life. He also knows that it's even more truly the Lord's work than usual. He feels pretty wrung out by the end, but also deeply happy as he exits the confessional and gives the Sin-Eater one of the rosaries he keeps there.

St. Dymphna's attracts many lost lambs, and a few years ago Jeremiah started keeping a collection of rosaries with green and white beads, and a medallion of Dymphna as demon slayer. Wrath is Jeremiah's besetting sin and he prefers to meditate on more peaceful images, but many of the nervous, mentally ill, and incest survivors who find a home in his church are very comforted to know that their patron saint will fight to protect them. The Sin-Eater sits down and starts immediately whispering his prayers, having apparently forgotten nothing in his long absence.


	18. Chapter 18

The dog park near St. Dymphna's is a nice one. Not very large, but there's grass to run and play on and some sand to dig in, as well as some tires for Querida to practice her agility on. Kit has never enjoyed competition, but he likes to run and play with Querida, and does very well on three legs. Will does some running of his own, since they have the place to themselves, and by the time he starts to worry about Hannibal, everyone has gotten a decent amount of exercise.

Will sends Hannibal a text, and loads the pack back into the car, driving over to St. Dymphna's. It's a short drive, and Hannibal still hasn't answered by the time Will arrives. He keeps reminding himself that Hannibal is almost certainly fine, that there's probably nothing to worry about. Callahan isn't busy calling an ambulance for the Sin-Eater. Or for himself, but the Cannibal has no real reason to bite his face off.

Of course St. Dymphna's is quiet when Will gets inside, and a quick look around shows him the Sin-Eater kneeling in prayer. He looks very calm, murmuring to himself as he moves along the beads of a rosary. Will smiles softly, and then jumps as Callahan comes up behind him on silent feet.

"Sorry," Callahan says, smiling softly, two gentle fingers on Will's elbow reminding him not to bury it in his gut.

"I hope you didn't give him too much penance," Will says, letting his arms drop and turning to Callahan. He grins, patting his shoulder.

"He'll be fine. It's a great many prayers, but it was the lowest I could haggle him down to."

Will can't help smiling. "Thank you, Father," he says softly, and then goes to sit in the Sin-Eater's pew, watching him where he's poised on the kneeler, murmuring prayers and just barely clicking his beads. Will doesn't know much about Catholicism, but when the Sin-Eater finishes the prayer on the cross itself, Will touches his bony shoulder. He twitches, looking up with those dark eyes.

"Hey, honey," Will says gently. "We need to take the dogs home."

The Sin-Eater nods, and carefully stands up, putting the beads into the inner pocket of Dr. Lecter's jacket, where they rest just under his heart. "Ready?" Will asks, and the Sin-Eater nods, but looks unsure.

"...Do we come back?" he asks, and Will's heart is broken all over again.

"On Sunday? Sure," he says, and takes the Sin-Eater's hand to lead him out, pausing to let him take his respectful leave of Callahan, who responds with a quiet, friendly, "peace be with you."

The Sin-Eater doesn't let go of Will's hand as they cross the parking lot, and when they get to the car he curls up in the shotgun seat, more contented than Will has ever seen him. The dogs are of course overjoyed to see them both, and the Sin-Eater is even willing to accept some canine affection, which is lovely to see. Winston is of course overjoyed to be hugged, tail wagging wildly all the way home.

The Sin-Eater is tired with his long confession, and after noting where he left off on his prayers, he lets Little Sister have the front. Little Sister thinks that St. Dymphna's is the prettiest church in the world that isn't one of the big big _big_ ones in Europe. She also thinks that Father Callahan is nice.

"If we can't wear a pretty dress to Mass, make the Sin-Eater put on something nice," she orders Will, and he grins at her.

"Your wish is my command, honey. He'll probably wear something of Dr. Lecter's, anyway."

She giggles happily at the thought, and then asks for some bread and jam, one of those childish things that only she likes. Hannibal would want buttered toast for his jam, but for Little Sister, Will carefully trims off the crusts of four slices of the softest, whitest bread available. Of course actual white bread in a bag is a thing of the past, except when Will has a fit of missing his dad and buys a loaf to make store brand baloney sandwiches on. 

Now he spreads a thin but comprehensive layer of jam over each rounded slice of this fluffy artisan loaf. Little Sister likes to have more than one kind when they're available, and with Hannibal in the house, they usually are. Will paints one slice with golden apricot, one with black cherry, one with the strawberry that he insists on as a kitchen staple, and the last with that weird key lime marmalade that's so much better than Will would've expected. He sets the finished plate on the kitchen table with a Hello Kitty mug of milk, and makes himself a real sandwich as Little Sister hums happily, devouring each slice in tiny bites. She really is a cute kid, and Will is happy to sit down with her and listen to her review of each kind of jam while he eats.

Hannibal actually has dinner plans for tonight, but they're moderately elaborate and involve long cooking times. so Will should have enough of an appetite to keep him from feeling slighted. Saturday night, of course, they'll be going out. Hannibal usually makes reservations for Date Night. Impromptu outings as a couple are one thing, but the planned ones warrant the use of caps. Will is pretty sure that this week is going to be Italian to match the opera, but he'll ask Hannibal when he takes the front again. For now, Little Sister needs him to break a tie between black cherry and apricot. His vote is for the cherry, of course. When in doubt, red fruits win.

After Little Sister has eaten her bread and drunk her milk, her head dips in that characteristic way, and Hannibal looks up, smiling. "Good evening, Will."

He chuckles, coming around the table to kiss him. "Hey." 

Hannibal pulls him into his lap, and Will sighs, cuddling close. He does love the others, but he's used to more Hannibal Time. Hannibal seems to sense it, holding him close for an indulgently long time before pushing him off to get the dishes washed. At least Will gets to be his kitchen assistant through all the weird, long, fiddly steps of tonight's meal plan. 

It's cozy, though, helping Hannibal reduce things and blend them and add ingredients at vastly different times and all the rest of it. Will has always appreciated good food, but he had never gotten into anything that's this much of a project before meeting Hannibal. During the last, longest cook time, they sprawl on the couch together, Will just purring and basking in Hannibal's presence. He presses his face into the crook of Hannibal's neck and making quiet noises of contentment as Hannibal strokes his hair and murmurs that he's a sweet and precious boy.


	19. Chapter 19

Will is pleased to wake up to Hannibal on Friday. Dr. Lecter's affairs are in order. so Hannibal and Will can linger over breakfast together. It's nice to just talk to Hannibal the way they do, with inside jokes and classical allusions and their own distinct set of shared memories.

"I'm really fucking glad we're having date night," Will mutters, and Hannibal grins at him.

"I am, too. Besides, it would be heartrending for either of us to miss Alethia LeGrande as Tosca. I know you're not half the opera queen I am, but you'll appreciate this one."

"I trust you," Will says, and Hannibal leans over to kiss his cheek.

Dr. Lecter doesn't appear until the last possible moment, picking up his bag and giving Will an odd, faintly anxious look. Will smiles at him, stepping in to give him his usual chaste kiss on the cheek. "I like having you around too, doc," he says, still a little surprised at how much he means it. "Don't worry."

"Thank you, Will," Dr. Lecter says, and kisses his forehead. It's the kind of kiss Will would give to Little Sister, but he can tell that it's all Lecter, with no prodding from Hannibal. He beams up at the doctor, who blushes, but smiles back.

It's a pretty typical day for their odd little family. There are no sexts from the Cannibal over lunch, but Hannibal calls and reports that the Sin-Eater has been taking the helm to work on his penance between patients, and that the switches are becoming very smooth.

"I'm glad that he and the Cannibal can be good citizens of the system again," Hannibal says. "They both were in childhood. Holding them back is a fairly recent innovation, and not a good one."

"It's never a good idea to lock your loved ones in the basement," Will agrees, and Hannibal laughs.

"Before Dr. Lecter was established, we all had to be very quiet. Even Little Sister couldn't ride along, a lot of the time. I used to get the worst headaches."

"God, I hope you would've dumped me if I had been any more of a dick about this than I was," Will says, and Hannibal laughs harder. 

It takes him a while to be able to speak again, and when he can, he gasps, "It would've been a wrench, dear, but I think I could have managed."

"I guess my open-mindedness is part of my charm," Will says, grinning.

"A very substantial part, dearest," Hannibal says, and then has to hang up because his receptionist has something to tell him.

When Will arrives home in the evening, he finds Little Sister watching Sailor Moon, the dogs piled onto the couch with her as something simmers in the kitchen, filling the house with the smell of cooking beans and onions. Little Sister pauses the show when Will comes in, and beams at him. She can't get up without disturbing Buster, who has taken possession of her lap, a priority that Will understands completely. He goes to her, kissing her forehead and grinning down at her.

"Decided it was time for cartoons after Hannibal put dinner on?"

"Yeah," she says, giggling. "He says I have time for one more before he needs to check it."

Will takes that as the invitation that it is, and snuggles his way in amongst the dogs to settle beside Little Sister and watch the Sailor Scouts deal with their leader's future child, who is, naturally, a pain in the ass. She seems like a plucky kid, though, so that's something.

At the end of the episode, Little Sister twitches her fingers and turns back into Hannibal, kissing Will hello and then bouncing up to check on the beans. Will switches over to Twin Peaks, which Hannibal loves more than can possibly be healthy.

Over a dinner of Hannibal's impossibly delicious cassoulet, Will learns that the Sin-Eater is nearly done with his prayers, and that Little Sister demands they order a fancy dessert to go, since she won't even be riding along to the opera. Date Night is not for children, and while Little Sister actually enjoys opera, _Tosca_ is much too sad for sensitive little girls.

Naturally, before they can spend Saturday night goofing off, Dr. Lecter has to get all his homework done like a good boy. Will watches fondly as he sets up his own little hyper-organized workspace in the living room, ignoring the dogs as they sniff at his hands and his laptop. The poor guy hasn't been back to Hannibal's house in while, aside from the usual stops for esoteric ingredients and catnaps, and he's the one who appreciates the lack of dog hair the most.

When Dr. Lecter is working on his various forms, notes, and treatment plans, it's very easy to see the teacher's pet he must have been when they were young. There's something adorable about it, and after Will has his own papers in order and a batch of quizzes graded, he takes the dogs out to pee on the bushes and then comes back in to sit on the couch beside Dr. Lecter.

"Hey," he says, softly. "You should probably take a break."

He bursts out laughing, which would be uncharacteristic enough if Will didn't recognize the Cannibal. "We really do! I have a hard time hijacking like this unless he's tired."

"That's not nice," Will says, trying not to smile.

"Oh, it's not as if I've locked the cockpit door, he can come forward with me." The Cannibal stands, stretches, and almost idly sheds Dr. Lecter's clothes, draping each item over the back of the couch. "He gives me so much shit if I leave anything on the floor," he says, in response to Will's look.

"I can imagine," Will says. "Doctor, if you're near the front and listening, I do love you, but your fastidiousness can be a bit much to take."

"He's not sulking," the Cannibal reports, head cocked as if listening to a physical voice. "Says he'll rest in the Interior for a bit. So, ice cream?"

Will laughs. "As long as you kids have your homework done," he says, and the Cannibal actually crosses his heart before bounding into the kitchen to see what flavors they have. 

Will follows, mentally tallying the Rocky Road he bought, the good vanilla with flecks of the bean that Hannibal insists on keeping as a household staple, and the two pints Dr. Lecter had brought home the other day. He can't remember either until he sees them in the Cannibal's bowl. The Cannibal is of course having some of everything. Will figures he's being pretty restrained, keeping it to just one scoop each of vanilla, Rocky Road, cotton candy, and rainbow sherbet.


	20. Chapter 20

Will's sweet tooth has lessened with age, but he does still like a sundae once in a while. He makes one out of vanilla and Rocky Road like a normal person while the Cannibal happily dumps almost every topping they have onto his bowl of madness. Hannibal keeps artisan chocolate and strawberry syrups in the house, and there's also some caramel and a jar of apricot preserves, to say nothing of the whipped cream, so the result is an incredible conglomerate of colors and textures.

It's kind of sickening to watch him eat it right where he is, sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge, but he's enjoying it so much that Will just closes the fridge and looks the other way, drizzling strawberry syrup over his own ice cream as the Cannibal inhales his goopy concoction with happy little growls and moans. Will shivers and keeps looking away, because it has to just be getting grosser as it melts. The dogs approach to do a little begging and then to lap up droplets of syrup and melted ice cream from the tiles, tails gently waving.

"Wiiiilllll," the Cannibal whines at last, and Will smiles a little at how childish he sounds.

"Yes?" he asks, turning to face his companion again.

The Cannibal's face is covered in ice cream and toppings. There's actually some in his _hair_ , and Will stares at him for a long moment before he bursts out laughing. The Cannibal grins at him, and then pulls him close with one sticky hand to give him an everything-flavor kiss. Everything-flavor is far from Will's favorite, but the Cannibal never does anything by halves. He's still kissing Will long after the sugary taste is gone, hauling him into his lap and leaving their empty bowls to be licked clean by the dogs as he devours Will's mouth. Will can't even mind the melted ice cream in his stubble. He'll just shower before bed.

"Tasssstyyyy," the Cannibal purrs, sticky hands grabbing Will's hair and making him laugh again.

"Glad you approve," he mumbles, nibbling on the Cannibal's lower lip.

"Always approve," the Cannibal mumbles back, and kisses him again, pulling his hair and making him gasp quietly. The Cannibal is as rough and as greedy as ever, but there's a tenderness to it that makes him feel safer than he probably should. 

"Delicious," the Cannibal growls, biting Will's neck. It's slow and hard and leonine, and Will is panting by the time the Cannibal lets go, very glad that he wears collared shirts to work. 

"Wish doc didn't work so hard," the Cannibal mutters, gnawing at Will's collarbone. "I'm too tired to give you a real seeing-to."

Will lets out a breathless laugh, closing his eyes as the Cannibal hauls his head back. "And here I thought you guys had more energy than a single person."

The Cannibal rolls his eyes. "Doc's been getting up at night, too. Doing the reading."

"I thought he was the best-read out of all of you," Will says, feeling more than a little stupid with arousal as he sags helplessly in the Cannibal's arms.

"Ha, not in what he's been reading!" The Cannibal grips Will's hard cock through his pants, grinning from ear to ear. "That's all stuff I know about."

"...He's been reading porn?" Will gasps, and the Cannibal laughs.

"Yep."

"Omigod I have to know what kind," Will says, laughing and still breathless.

The Cannibal laughs. "After handjobs in the shower?"

"After I wash the bowls, yes."

"Deal," he says, with a long-suffering sigh. He lets Will go very reluctantly, but is glad to take the dogs out for a few minutes. Will is waiting when he gets back, and they ascend the stairs hand in hand.

Hannibal's selves have diverse preferences in everything, and when it comes to showers, for the Cannibal, it's the hotter the better. Will lets him find the temperature, the mirror fogging up almost immediately.

"Well?" the Cannibal says, turning to Will with greedy eyes. Will laughs, and takes off his clothes, folding them and piling them on the closed lid of the toilet, acutely aware of the Cannibal's gaze. He looks up and can actually feel himself blushing at the way the Cannibal looks at him.

"You delight me endlessly," the Cannibal purrs, and Will lets out a startled laugh, straightening up.

"Thanks, baby." He nods toward the shower. "Think you've got it hot enough?"

"Maaaybe," the Cannibal lilts, and steps into the stall. Will follows him into the clouds of steam, gasping at the shock of so much sudden heat. The Cannibal growls and pulls him close, biting his neck and then pushing him against the wall, plastering himself to Will's chest and gripping his cock with one hand, the nails of the other sinking into his back.

"Fffuck!" Will whines, and clutches at the Cannibal's shoulders as the near-scalding water pours down on them and the Cannibal strokes him roughly, pausing only to run the pad of his thumb over the exposed head, grinning when it makes Will yelp.

"Delectable," he growls, and does it again, holding Will up when his legs start to shake. A moment later, Will groans and comes, too shattered to really kiss back when the Cannibal devours his mouth. He just leans against the wall, sloppy and passive in the steam. He lets the Cannibal take his hand and guide it to his cock, cool in comparison to the water sluicing down their bodies. 

The Cannibal is already pulsing in Will's hand, and after he finds the strength to squeeze properly, it only takes a few strokes before the Cannibal is shuddering and groaning, a huge stupid dead weight in his arms, like an affectionate mastiff. Will laughs, propping him up and reaching for the soap, making a quick pass to ensure that ice cream and semen are both gone before he switches off the shower. 

His water heater can only take so much, and the Cannibal grumbles about how much better Hannibal's bathroom is as Will towels him off, instinctively using the same motions that he does with the dogs. It seems to soothe the Cannibal, because he eventually stops complaining and goes to bed as Will finishes drying himself, and takes a last check over the dogs and the house before joining the Cannibal.

The Cannibal is ensconced under all the blankets and propped on all the pillows, holding a manilla folder labeled 'Research Materials' in Dr. Lecter's unbearably correct handwriting, and a selection of paperback romances. He grins when Will comes in, and gestures to the literature on his lap.

"This is what he's been working on! I've been helping." He leers at Will, and Will laughs, crawling in next to him.

"Well," he says, "which of us is reading aloud from Forbidden Desire?"

"I will," the Cannibal says sweetly, and as Will crawls in beside him, he begins.


	21. Chapter 21

Will wakes up to Hannibal's laughter, and is already smiling when he opens his eyes. "Yes, dear?" he asks, looking over to see Hannibal sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his most eye-smarting paisley dressing gowns. He's holding Forbidden Desire in one hand, and his usual cup of coffee in the other.

"Am I misremembering, or did the Cannibal actually do the voices?" he asks, and Will laughs, sitting up to kiss him good morning.

"Yes, yes he did."

"Bless his twisted heart," Hannibal says, smiling and shaking his head. "At least he spared you the margin notes." He sighs. "Poor Dr. Lecter. He stayed inside and did homework while all the other kids were listening to bootleg rock and roll and learning to French kiss."

"I'll be gentle with him," Will says, and Hannibal kisses his cheek.

"I know you will."

They spend their pre-date Saturday as they usually do, walking the dogs after a leisurely breakfast and then coming back to lie around with books, saving their energy for evening. Lunch is of course low-effort, and soon after it, Hannibal is shepherding Will upstairs. As far as Will can tell, a large part of Hannibal's enjoyment of this kind of thing is getting to play dress-up with his Will doll. 

At least he's legitimately better at some things, such as getting a close shave. He hums passages of _Tosca_ as he works, and Will sits on the closed toilet and tries not to smile. After being shaved, he submits to product. At least it's always pleasant to have Hannibal running loving fingers through his hair. He takes his time over it tonight, and Will purrs, leaning into his hands until he pulls away, laughing.

"There. Now your lovely, Byronic curls are properly defined."

"You only call them that when I need a haircut."

"When you begin to think you need a haircut, Will. I would be pleased to let you grow it out as long as you liked."

"I'm sure Little Sister would vote for that, too."

"Of course," Hannibal says, and kisses Will's forehead before going to his closet in search of just the right shirt. 

Will only has a few that are nice enough to qualify, all crammed onto one end of the pole together. Hannibal murmurs to himself as he examines them, and finally emerges with the dove grey thing he gave Will for Christmas. 

"Yes," he says softly, stroking it with long, luxurious finger movements that are more like the Cannibal, "this will do nicely."

Being Hannibal's dress-up doll isn't so bad, taken sparingly. He always feels Will up a bit in the process of making sure that everything is sitting smoothly, and the flower he pins to Will's lapel always comes with a kiss. Will sighs into it tonight, trying not to melt too much. They have a show to get to and Hannibal will be put out if Will crushes his boutonniere. Adorably put out yes,, but he's been doing a lot of emotional work lately and Will is disposed to treat him gently.

"You are so remarkably sweet to me," Hannibal murmurs, as though he heard the words, and kisses Will's forehead before stepping back and taking his hand. "Now, darling, take a last look to the pack's comfort."

Hannibal hates to be late for dinner reservations, and having worked in a restaurant or two, Will is in complete agreement. He makes sure that the dogs have toys and treats to console them for being heartlessly abandoned, gives everyone a last pat, and then follows Hannibal out to the car.

The tradition is that whoever chose the evening's activity gets to drive, and Will settles into the shotgun seat with a happy sigh. The leather always seems like too much until he's actually cradled in it. Hannibal chuckles. and waits for him to be buckled in and comfortable before pulling away from the house.

Will grins at the sight of a small cooler in the back seat. "For Little Sister's dessert?"

"And for any other leftovers, though I don't expect them."

He of course goes on to tell Will all about their destination, a little Italian place owned by a friend of a friend. Will lets most of it just wash over him, almost dozing by the time they arrive. He snaps right out of it, though, and follows Hannibal up to the door. Of course Hannibal holds it open for him, and when they reach their table, he pulls out his chair, too. Will has given up on this particular fight, and just scoots in to peruse the menu by candlelight while Hannibal talks to the waiter in Italian.

Naturally, they end up ordering almost entirely according to Hannibal's plan, with a few additions that leave Will so full he's afraid of falling asleep before intermission. They order a panna cotta for Little Sister, and Hannibal packs it into the cooler with loving care, even if he's practically panting to get to the opera.

"If you had less class you'd be a stage-door Johnny for this woman," Will cracks, and Hannibal just smiles.

"She deserves our devotion, Will, as you shall see."

Will is always a little uncomfortable walking into the opera house. He can't help the feeling that he's not supposed to be here, that someone is going to grab him by the ear and haul him out. So he only goes in before Hannibal when the weather is too harsh to stand around in, waiting for him to park the car and then come walking up like he owns the place and Will is extra, a pleasant surprise just for him.

"Come, darling," he says, and takes Will's arm. He's at his most ostentatiously queeny at the opera, because he knows he can get away with it here. Will lets Hannibal sweep him along, feeling ridiculous and very, very loved. They of course have to greet the society types that Hannibal and Dr. Lecter know, and Will has to do his best to smile pretty, even though their regard is needles in his skin. It's over quickly, at least, and they can make their way to their box and settle into its opulent red velvet for the first act.

Will doesn't love opera the way Hannibal does, because almost no one on earth who isn't involved in making it loves it more than Hannibal does. Still, he knows good when he hears it, and these guys are. The opening scene at the church unfolds neatly on its minimalist staging, and if Will isn't swept away, he's definitely invested. And then Alethia LeGrande shows up and practically takes the roof off. Will can't even glance over to watch Hannibal be spellbound, because he's too busy being spellbound, himself. This is just Tosca's first scene, establishing her relationship with Cavaradossi and jealousy as her fatal flaw, and it makes Will wonder if Hannibal is going to even survive the tragic ending.


	22. Chapter 22

Hannibal already seems a little shaky by the first intermission, but he collects him himself in a rather Dr. Lecterish way, and can even smile at the society types and enjoy the glass of champagne Will fetches him. In the whirl of expensive perfume, real jewels, and beautiful dresses, Will is somehow not at all surprised when Little Sister takes advantage of a moment of distraction to peek out. It's a lot like a little kid coming downstairs when they're supposed to be sleeping through the party, and here it has a similar effect. Will wants to chide her for not minding her brother even as the trio of women who were just talking to Hannibal all coo over her.

At least Hannibal is out and proud as a multiple system, and Will finds himself feeling much fonder of Hannibal's opera friends than he ever has before. They take the slide into a sweet, girlish voice in stride, and are happy to go fetch her some of the bonbons that are too sweet for Hannibal. They're pretty goopy, but Little Sister eats them very neatly, amid pretty and heartfelt thanks.

"You were supposed to stay in for this, you know," Will says, but doesn't have the heart to really disapprove.

"The last performance here was Der fliegende Holländer," one of the women says with a smile. "It was too long and too frightening for little children, and Hannibal forgot to save a few for her. We can hardly blame her, can we, pet?"

Little Sister giggles and eats her candy while Will's Grinchy heart grows three sizes. "I guess we can't," he says, resting one hand on Little Sister's back, smiling at the way she relaxes into the touch, always glad to feel protected. By the time she has consumed her second bonbon, the lines of her body are shifting, and Hannibal is back, slightly pink across the cheekbones as he dabs at his lips with a paper napkin.

"Thank you for your understanding," he says, and Will kisses his cheek, very glad to hear the signal to return for the second act.

Hannibal grins at him as they gain the privacy of their box again. "Let this be a lesson to me about getting between Little Sister and sugar."

"I suppose so." Will says. "...You know, I wasn't expecting it to be okay."

Hannibal chuckles. "I can associate with climbers, harpies, and surgery addicts, Will, but only if they're kind to my little sister."

"You bitch," Will mutters, taking Hannibal's hand as the curtain goes up. 

Hannibal smiles, and laces their fingers together. Within a few measures of the music the smile is gone, Hannibal's face settling back into its look of quiet rapture.

Hannibal's face has been glazed with tears since the cantata, and by Vissi d'arte he's actually whimpering a little into his handkerchief. It's very decorous whimpering, but there all the same, and Will puts his arm around him, something he usually objects to as interfering with the acoustics. Now he leans into Will, snuffling as quietly as he can and watching almost unblinking as Tosca kills Scarpia at last, the orchestra shrieking for emphasis.

Through association with Hannibal, Will is up on the nuances of Scarpia's death. He prefers to see the killing done with a letter opener, as it is in this production. He can't say why, it's just one of those things, and LeGrande does it perfectly. Will has seen Toscas who look positively hypocritical lighting candles for their fallen foe, but this one is very convincing. The violence is desperate and frightened, and her shock and grief afterward are almost too realistic for opera. It's stunning, and Will is mopping at tears of his own as the curtain comes down for the second intermission. He always feels snappish and prickly when he gets like this in public, and now is no exception.

Hannibal chuckles, dabbing at Will's eyes with a dry corner of his handkerchief. "I suppose it was cruel of me to veto your glasses," he says, and Will rolls his eyes and pulls away.

"I'll live," he grumbles.

"Will more champagne help?" Hannibal purrs, and Will slumps in his seat for optimum sulking, arms folded over his chest.

"Yes."

Hannibal kisses Will on the forehead and goes stalking out in that feline way of his. Will waits a few minutes, then breaks down and makes his way to the restroom. Mercifully, it's not too crowded and no one tries to talk to him. Better still, by the time he gets back to the box, Hannibal has come back with booze and a few more bonbons, carefully wrapped up for Little Sister.

"I forgive you for exposing me to Art and making me Feel Feelings," Will tells Hannibal as he accepts his glass, and Hannibal smiles.

"Wonderful."

At least the third act is short, even if it does make Hannibal cry again. The shepherd boy is remarkably good, and Will doesn't begrudge the company the near-eternal standing ovation they get at the end of their performance. Sometimes it takes another eternity to escape the opera house, but it's late and people are tired. Even Hannibal's courtesy doesn't detain them long, and soon Will can curl up in the car, slightly buzzed and entirely content. Hannibal gives his hair an affectionate ruffle and makes sure that his seatbelt is buckled, murmuring something in Italian.

"Woof," Will says, and Hannibal chuckles, kissing his cheek and then pulling away to start the car.

Will realizes that he dozed off only when he wakes up in the driveway, and wobbles a little as Hannibal leads him inside. The dogs make him feel much more alert with their ecstatic greetings, and he sits on the couch and pets them while Hannibal stores the sweets for Little Sister and pours each of them a little brandy.

"Debauching me with Demon Alcohol," Will mutters, taking his drink as Hannibal laughs at him and settles in beside him.

"Of course," Hannibal says, and then of course plunges them into a discussion of the performance. Will does more listening than talking, sipping his brandy and leaning on Hannibal.

"We should have a fire," Will mumbles during the pause after one of Hannibal's spasms of fanboying over LeGrande, and Hannibal laughs.

"Perhaps, dearest, but that would require one of us to get up and make it."

"Knew there was a catch," Will says, and then yawns.

"Finish your drink and let me tuck you in," Hannibal coos, and Will obeys, leaving his glass on the end table and shuffling through his nightly routine. Hannibal abandons Will to wash the brandy snifters, but he does actually tuck him in, and it makes Will feel ridiculous and cherished. He snuggles down into the pillows as the dogs pile on around him, and Hannibal presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Goodnight, dearest," he murmurs, and Will slides back into sleep in a moment.


	23. Chapter 23

Will wakes up when Hannibal's weight leaves the mattress, and he blinks a few times, blurry and wondering who the man shuffling around even is before he remembers that it's Sunday, and probably the Sin-Eater. This is confirmed by the sound of gargling from the bathroom, one of those intensive and unlovely ablutions that the other personalities usually don't bother with, at least as long as Will is within earshot.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he says when he emerges and sees Will sitting up. 

"It's okay," he says, yawning and scrubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand. The Sin-Eater is wearing Dr. Lecter's pajamas, buttoned all the way to the top, where the doctor leaves at least two undone. "I hope you and Little Sister enjoy church."

"We're going early so I can confess again," he says, looking distressingly pleased.

"Whatever works," Will says, yawning and lying back down as Buster hops onto the bed to half-heartedly demand food. Will isn't moving yet and they both know it, so he just sighs and tucks himself under Will's arm. "Dr. Lecter is driving, right?"

"Yes," the Sin-Eater says. According to Hannibal, the Sin-Eater can drive, but spends the entire time in a state of near-panic and is utterly useless for dealing with police officers, while Little Sister of course has no idea how and doesn't want to learn.

"Well, stay safe," Will says, and nestles down with the dogs again, listening as the Sin-Eater makes his way upstairs. Dr. Lecter comes down a few minutes later in one of his plainest suits, and Will smiles, recognizing him by the way he carries himself.

"Ready to go, doctor?"

"I believe so, yes."

Will yawns. "Hope you don't find it too dull."

"There is often very good music at Catholic services, Will," he says, and Will chuckles.

"C'mere and kiss me goodbye. Just the cheek, if you'd rather."

Dr. Lecter goes slightly pink, and crouches by the bed to press a soft, dry kiss to Will's mouth. It only lasts a moment, but it's very sweet, and leaves Will beaming as he drifts toward sleep again. He has light, half-waking dreams for another hour or so, and then gets up at long last to start the coffee and feed his poor starving dogs. As always, they act like he never feeds them, and he just laughs, making sure everyone has some nice nutritious slop before settling at the kitchen table with his coffee and a non-work book because a constant diet of killers is bad for him.

St. Dyphmna's holds their morning service at half-past eight, and Will isn't actually expecting Hannibal back before noon, but he finds himself watching the clock before it's even ten. Despite any assurances from Father Callahan, Will can't help worrying about the congregation. By eleven o'clock his thoughts turn to the Sunday brunch that Hannibal would have ready by this time, most weeks. 

Still, a guy has to be willing to make sacrifices for the good of the family, and with that in mind he opens the fridge to throw something together only to find everything for a ham and cheese omelet, already measured out and neatly diced. Will's never turn out as pretty, but the omelet he makes tastes as good as one of Hannibal's. He can't help feeling guilty, because they must have gotten up in the night to do it or something. He'll ask when they get back. The thought sends his gaze to the clock again, and he snorts in derision at himself.

"I'm starting to act like you guys," he tells the dogs, and they just smile and wag at him. After Will eats he takes them on a long walk, refusing to count the minutes like an idiot. The walk turns into a run when he catches sight of Hannibal's car on the loop toward home. And it is Hannibal who gets out, laughing in the sunlight as the dogs and Will come galloping up to him. He pets everyone in greeting, including Will, who laughs and kisses him as the dogs swarm around them.

"So, how did the kids like church?" Will croons in his most motherly voice.

Hannibal laughs, pulling a black shopping bag from the car and following him up the steps. "It was a profound experience for both, and the Sin-Eater is actually _happy_ , which is making him a little nervous."

"That's good," Will says, hanging up his jacket beside Hannibal's and sparing a curious glance for the bag, hung on the same hook. "Coffee?"

"Please," Hannibal says, making his way through the dogs to lounge on the couch. "We had to fast in order to take communion."

"You guys should have left enough for two omelets," Will says, setting Hannibal's coffee on the end table beside him.

Hannibal chuckles. "That was mostly the Sin-Eater's idea. He felt guilty about making you miss brunch when you always enjoy it."

"Jeez, why can't he be as hostile to my pleasure as he is to yours?" Will asks, sitting beside Hannibal and leaning into him, keeping a close eye on his own third cup of coffee, since four out of five personalities would be very upset if he slopped it onto their crisp white shirt.

"You know why not," Hannibal says softly, and Will is very touched by his refusal to actually rat the Sin-Eater out.

"I guess I do," Will murmurs, and for a while they're just quiet, sipping coffee in the afternoon sun. After that, of course, Little Sister needs to emerge to debrief Will on the sermon and who was there and what they wore, and he listens patiently and provides Hello Kitty toast on demand until Little Sister goes to rest in the Interior, letting Hannibal out again.

"I need some protein to hold all that sugar down," he says, and vanishes into the kitchen to scramble sausage and eggs. The dogs follow him in their hopeful way, and Will chuckles, sinking back into the warm cushions for a while. Hannibal prefers not to eat alone if it is at all possible to do otherwise, so Will hauls himself up out of the couch to join him at the kitchen table. His place is already set with a saucer and a fork, and Will laughs, sitting down and accepting a sample of Hannibal's food, which is delicious as always.

"After divine service I felt the need to do something sinful," he tells Will, "so I found an open sex shop and bought a few presents."

"So that's what's in the sack. Are they the kind that are for me but really for you, or the other way around?"

Hannibal grins. "I prefer to blur those lines when I can," he says, eyes gleaming.


	24. Chapter 24

They adjourn to the upstairs bedroom to examine Hannibal's haul, sitting on the bed as Hannibal draws one item out of the sack at a time. The first thing is a pair of black leather shorts that look like they'll barely cover his ass. Will counts this one as a present for both of them, since Hannibal loves leather and he loves Hannibal in leather. Next comes something that Will mistakes for a collar at first. That makes no sense, given the number of them Hannibal already owns.

"This is for the Cannibal," Hannibal says, eyes sparkling. "And for you." He hands it to Will, and Will realizes that it's a ring gag, sized perfectly for Will to fuck the wearer's mouth. "He does so want to suck you off," Hannibal says, "but I want you to be secure when he does."

"I mostly trust him, but he is the kind of guy to get caught up in the moment," Will agrees, rubbing the straps to be sure that they're soft and comfortable. They are, and he hands it back to Hannibal, who sets it beside the shorts and pulls out a small box. "This is for the doctor," he says, and Will laughs when he sees that it's actually a Virginity Loss Kit, with two pairs of gloves, three condoms, three dental dams, a tube of lube, and a small dildo. Everything is white, unflavored, and unadorned. It feels incredibly medical, and Hannibal nods at Will's quizzical look.

"It's from a line that produces a lot of medical fetish supplies, yes, but I thought he might genuinely appreciate it. Last but not least," he says, pulling out two small packages, "these are for Little Sister." There's a pink and white feather boa with a bit of silver in it, still neatly crammed into a little plastic tube, and a pair of lacy white panties that match a dress and set of ankle socks that Little Sister already has. 

Will smiles. "Aw, the kid's gonna love these. Nothing for Sin-Eater?"

"He feels like going to church was a beautiful gift he doesn't deserve, I didn't want to throw him off."

"Good point," Will says, handing Little Sister's gifts back.

Hannibal chuckles, and returns everything to the bag except for the gag and the shorts, giving Will a hopeful, expectant look like a dog with its leash in its mouth. Will grins and crawls over to kiss him. "Yes, we can test drive those if you want. Should I let you alone to primp, or do I get to watch?"

"I think I'd like to set the stage a little," Hannibal says, smiling. "Is it all right if the Cannibal rides along?"

"Of course, it'd be rude to use his present without him," Will says, and kisses Hannibal again before leaving the room. He'll come back when Hannibal knocks three times on the door, and gets the dishes done while he waits. On the signal, he washes his hands, makes sure that none of the dogs need to go out, and then heads back upstairs. He opens the bedroom door slowly, and shivers to see Hannibal kneeling on the floor, wearing the shorts, his favorite collar, and his very favorite pair of fuck-me boots. It's a good look for him, and Will just drinks it in for a long moment before he says so.

Hannibal chuckles, looking up with bright, reddish eyes. "Thank you, sir," he says softly, and licks his lips, a very Cannibalesque gesture.

"What are your safewords?" Will asks, pacing a slow circle around Hannibal, all the better to ogle him.

"Vanilla to proceed or intensify, chocolate to slow down, copper to stop," he says, so crisp that Will wonders if the doctor is poking his head in for a moment. It doesn't really matter to Will, they're all welcome.

"Very good," he says, coming around to the front again. "Show me your hand signals." Hannibal obliges him: two upraised fingers for vanilla, C-shapes for chocolate, and the side of one hand striking the other palm for copper. "Good," Will says, and just stands there stroking Hannibal's hair for a long moment. Hannibal is already hard and Will isn't far behind, but he still wants to savor this, gazing down into those dilated and hungry eyes for a long moment before he speaks again. "I'm going to use your mouth," he informs Hannibal. "No hands except to signal."

"Yes sir," Hannibal breathes. The ring gag is waiting for him on the bed, of course, so Will picks it up and takes his time about fitting it into Hannibal's eager mouth just right, and getting the straps to the right tightness, making sure not to pull Hannibal's hair. He only wants him to feel pain on purpose at times like these. He takes a moment to trail his fingertips along the rims of Hannibal's ears, because all of them enjoy it. Hannibal shivers, and gazes up at Will like nothing else exists, mouth locked open on the ring.

"Beautiful," Will purrs, stroking his hair. He's mostly hard now, the bulge of his cock less than inch from Hannibal's face, but Hannibal is good. He doesn't even lean in, just breathes and watches Will, his eyes full of red lights. "Such a good boy," Will purrs, and steps back enough to get his cock out. Because it's a lazy Sunday, he only has underwear and sweats to contend with, and can just tug the elastic waistbands down enough. Hannibal whines around the ring, drooling a little already, and Will just rubs against Hannibal's cheek for a moment before taking pity on him and sliding into his mouth as he moans and shows two upraised fingers on each hand.

"We should get you some gloves to match," Will murmurs, letting Hannibal take him as deep as he can. 

He usually can't manage all of it on the first attempt, but tonight he takes Will all the way down and moans, pressing the ring to the base of Will's cock and gazing up at him with red eyes. Will groans and shakes, starting to fuck Hannibal's mouth slow and deep, looking down into his eyes as they shift from hazel to red and back again. Of course they start to water from the effort after a while, and Will wipes it up whenever it gets close to real tears, softly telling Hannibal how beautiful he is, how sweet and hot his mouth is, and how the press of the ring almost hurts, but in a good way. 

Hannibal groans in an affirmative tone, and Will chuckles breathlessly. "Yeah, it's probably gonna bruise your pretty mouth," he purrs, and Hannibal whimpers through his nose, eyes going red again as he takes Will as deep as he can and keeps him there longer than Will would think was possible, swallowing and swallowing around him.


	25. Chapter 25

Will's stamina has improved since entering a relationship with a person as libidinous as Hannibal (to say nothing of the Cannibal's influence,) but Will can't fuck Hannibal's face for very long before he's coming so hard that he has to stagger a few steps away and sit on the bed. He feels like an asshole, sitting here with his hands on his knees and catching his breath while Hannibal's mouth is still locked open, drooling. It's all clear, because Will came too far down his throat for him to lose any of it, and he can't help a little whimper at the thought. He takes a deep breath and hauls his pants up, getting up to tug at Hannibal's collar.

"Come on," he says. "On your feet." Hannibal whimpers and obeys, legs trembling like they'll barely support him. His mouth is so red around the gleam of silver that Will has to kiss it, open-mouthed to match the forced gape of the gag. As he does, he bundles Hannibal backward onto bed. He stretches out gratefully, and sighs as Will tenderly removes it, easing the ring out from between his teeth and massaging his jaw. "You okay, honey?"

"Yes, sir," Hannibal coos. 

He always loves to be praised at times like this, and now he melts completely as Will tells him what a good boy he is, so sweet and obedient. His eyes flicker greenish as Will speaks, and he can feel his smile widening at this sign of the doctor's presence. He keeps crooning about what a good boy Hannibal is as he rubs him down, dabs away his sweat, and slowly, tenderly, peels him out of the leather, rubbing his palms over every butter-soft contour before exposing Hannibal's skin.

"Vanilla," Hannibal breathes when Will checks in, leaving his hands on the mattress, where Will put them. 

Will takes a moment just to admire Hannibal as he lies there, passive and so hard that Will can see his heartbeat in the big vein on the underside of his cock. He gives it a loving squeeze and the way Hannibal cries out makes him think for a second that he has miscalculated. But no, Hannibal may be on edge, but he's not getting any younger, and he's still hard and probably aching like hell when Will pulls away to pick up the lube that Hannibal has thoughtfully placed on the nightstand. He slicks his fingers as he kisses Hannibal's mouth, which is indeed a little bruised. Not too much, Dr. Lecter will be able to look respectable tomorrow, and Will chuckles at the thought and at the little mewling noise Hannibal makes when Will rubs slippery fingers over his hole.

"Like that?" Will purrs, and Hannibal nods, temporarily unable to speak.

"Y-yes, sir!" he gasps when he finds his voice again, and then moans as Will slides two fingers into him. 

Will nibbles his ear and just plays with him for a while, loosening him up and stroking everywhere but the place he needs it most. Hannibal whines and rocks his hips down onto Will's hand, his sounds getting more and more pleading until Will rubs the pads of his fingers over Hannibal's prostate, making him buck his hips and wail. Will growls and bites his neck, working him in earnest now. He loves Hannibal like this, melted and defenseless, none of the doctor's coldness or the Cannibal's ferocity to protect him. He trusts Will to take him apart, and that's what gets Will every time. Now he bites Hannibal's shoulder and pushes in with three fingers, fucking long, raw cries out of him, high-pitched and desperate noises that Will will never get enough of.

In the end Hannibal does come with no one touching his cock, and it goes on for a long, long time, a series of slow convulsions that leave Hannibal breathless and melted on the bed, wearing nothing but the collar and his own come all over his belly. He whimpers almost inaudibly on each exhale, and shudders when Will kisses him.

"P-permission to touch, sir?" he gasps, and Will nods.

"Of course, honey," he says, slowly easing his fingers out as Hannibal clings to him. "Good boys need to be held," he adds, doing so. Hannibal hides his face in the crook of Will's neck and makes small and happy noises as Will pets and praises him. When he looks up much later, his eyes are hazel, and he blushes, his fingers twitching on Will's back.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, sir," he says softly. Will kisses him very gently, and gets back to what he was doing. Hannibal's fingers twitch again as he steps back to the front, and there he stays, soaking up Will's love until he can bear to let him go so they can clean themselves up. The shower is a little small for two adults, but Will shares it with Hannibal anyway, the two of them helping each other wash away all their various sticky spots. The bed doesn't even need to be changed, which is lucky, but Will just remakes it and leads Hannibal down to the big bed by the fire. Hannibal sighs and curls up in Will's arms, smiling as the various dogs come to join them.

"I think the doctor enjoys praise even more than I do," Hannibal murmurs, and Will laughs even as the thought makes his heart feel like it's trying to twist.

"He really is kinda sweet, isn't he?" Will murmurs.

"A little," Hannibal says, kissing the corner of Will's mouth. "I want you to be very gentle with him, when the time comes."

"Of course I will be," he says, making it into a proper kiss for a moment. "Make sure he knows that he can take all the time he needs, okay?"

Hannibal chuckles, and kisses him again. "Of course."

"I wonder if he'll want to use the kit," Will mumbles a long while later, when they're both half-asleep in the dim red glow of the fire, and Hannibal laughs.

"It can be hard to predict the doctor sometimes," he says, "but I did buy in a truly helpful spirit. Sure, it's funny, but I think it might actually help him."

"I hope so," Will says, and yawns. He'll have to get up after about an hour to set his alarm and let the dogs out again, but for now he dozes with Hannibal in his arms.


	26. Chapter 26

After all the tumultuous changes within the system, Will is glad to feel like things are settling into a routine again. He makes coffee for Dr. Lecter in the morning, and sends him and Hannibal off with a kiss. Having Monday be a late start is one of Will's favorite features of his schedule, because it cuts down on the time that the dogs are left alone, and gives him time to get his head together.

Over his lunch break the Cannibal sends him a few filthy texts, and they give Will strength for his last lecture, which is 101 level and thereby filled with people with no actual interest in the subject, and a large selection of complete idiots as well. Will doesn't have office hours until Tuesday, and makes his escape as soon as he can after class.

He comes home to the scent of Hannibal's cooking, and staggers in without even bothering to remove his jacket or glasses, just hugging Hannibal from behind as he stirs something on the stove. Hannibal laughs, patting Will's arm with his free hand.

"Welcome home, dearest," he says.

"This may sound weird from from a guy living with a guy who has five personalities, but I'm glad things are getting back to normal around here."

Hannibal just laughs harder at that, and has to lean against the counter to collect himself before he turns to kiss Will. "Normal is entirely relative for people like us, darling." He kisses the corner of Will's eye and turns back to his task. "Make yourself comfortable, it's nearly ready."

Will obeys, and grades quizzes for twenty minutes because he'd rather do it himself than deal with having TAs. Hannibal calls him to the table then, to eat and to hear about his day. He's always more interested in Will's students than Will is himself. Apparently his patients are all doing pretty well, (which is about as specific as he ever gets,) and the Sin-Eater is mostly done with his first round of penance already.

"He is, after all, a professional," Hannibal says, and Will smiles and shakes his head.

"I'm just glad he's doing better," Will says.

"Not being completely isolated is a big help. You're good for us."

"Thanks," Will says, feeling stupidly shy about it. Hannibal just blows him a kiss across the table and turns his attention back to his plate, which is as well worth it as always.

Their next official Date Night is Will's choice, and Hannibal is a very good sport about going to Beverly's cousin's house to help them socialize their puppies. When the unspayed dog had gotten away and gotten knocked up, Beverly had passed Will's number to her cousin Evelyn as someone who knows about these things, so this event is partially his arranging. The puppies have only recently opened their eyes, silly little puffballs that are half Pomeranian and half god knows what, with sweet little faces and upright ears.

Enormous Europeans are among the many things a well-rounded dog should learn to deal with, and Hannibal speaks Lithuanian to the little furballs as Will passes each of the litter to him in turn. He has said that the Cannibal will be riding along for this, since he enjoys dogs so much, but that he'll be well under control, and he is. Hannibal's eyes stay pure brown, not shading to red at all as he cradles the tiny animals, touching their little paws and giving them kibble to make a lifetime of nail trimming easier for everyone involved. 

Beverly's little second cousins giggle and very carefully take each puppy from Hannibal. They're barely old enough to be trusted, but they're a pair of motherly little girls who have taken Will's instructions to be very gentle to heart. Beverly is on the opposite side of the circle, and beams at them, pleased to see Hannibal in action.

After the puppies have been put back with their mother for a break and the children have been praised for behaving, Beverly corners Hannibal with a cup of tea. They've spoken briefly over the phone before but that's it, and Hannibal is prepared to be interrogated. Gently and with skill, but interrogated nonetheless. Will sips his own tea and makes sure that the mother dog is being fed properly. Once he's done that, he can rescue Hannibal, pleading further plans. Sure, they're just going to get burritos and have no reservation, but people don't have to know that. 

Hannibal laughs when Will says so, and wields the doctor's lint-roller all the way to their destination. It's a little hole in the wall, but Hannibal has no complaints about the food, and has in fact had long conversations in Spanish with the staff. Apparently a lot of the recipes are secret, but they've given him some good advice. Now they just make their usual order, with a piece of tres leches cake to go because Little Sister loves it.

Somehow, Hannibal can consume a huge greasy burrito without making a mess, and Will still isn't sure how he does it. He studies the technique anew as they eat in comfortable silence, and is left as baffled as ever. Hannibal tells him a few fun facts about Aztec mythology, as full of blood and terror as any of the others Will has heard.

"Mexico is a hell of a drug," he mutters, and Hannibal laughs.

They make a fairly early night of it, because the Sin-Eater and Little Sister have church tomorrow, and Hannibal prepares brunch in advance, his movements informed by the Sin-Eater even if he doesn't actually come to the front. Once he's done with that he comes to join Will, snuggling into his arms. There's a definite temptation to start fooling around, but they restrain themselves in the interests of getting the Sin-Eater to early service without sleep deprivation.

Will has never really thought about whether or not the Sin-Eater sleeps outside the Interior, but he must, because Will's dreams are colorless and full of the smell of church incense. They're not exactly bad dreams, but it's a bit of a relief to wake up, all the same. He opens his eyes to find the Sin-Eater crouched beside the bed, gazing at him with those big, dark eyes.

"Morning, sweetheart," Will mumbles, and the Sin-Eater kisses him on the forehead. It's rather brotherly, but still pleasant.

"I took care of the dogs," he says. "Rest."

Will doesn't take much convincing, and dozes off again until Buster starts trying to dig him up. Will wakes up laughing, and takes the dogs out for their first real walk of the day. Just like last week, they come looping back as Hannibal pulls up.

"So, how was church?" Will asks, wading through the dogs to kiss Hannibal properly.

"Good, I think," he says, smiling at Will. "The Sin-Eater is supposed to eat a small dish of ice cream as penance. We'll have to see if he can do it."


	27. Chapter 27

Will had thought he had some idea how hard eating ice cream would be for the Sin-Eater, but he's astounded at the genuine fear with which he approaches one tablespoon of a batch of homemade sweet cream. There isn't even vanilla in it, just enough sugar for it count as a dessert, and it sits there, plain white and homely, awaiting its victim.

"I-I don't deserve it," the Sin-Eater mumbles, lurking at Will's side, "but.."

"I can hold your hand if you want," Will says, and the Sin-Eater blushes and nods. 

He takes Will's hand hesitantly and without looking at him, and they take the last step to the table together. Will lets the Sin-Eater do it in his own excruciating time. It feels like about an hour, but finally he picks up the spoon (left-handed, he and the Cannibal both seem to be ambidextrous) and scoops up a tiny taste. He puts it into his mouth with a cringing, miserable movement, and immediately starts to cry, big, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Is it too much?" Will asks as the Sin-Eater swallows, and he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says, and his eyes are flecked green with the doctor's presence, so Will actually believes him. Dr. Lecter is riding along with the Sin-Eater, because he is the most qualified to tell when mental distress is reaching the point of physical harm.

"Okay," Will says, and squeezes his hand as he takes another tiny bite. Will just waits, and the Sin-Eater makes his painful way through half of the ice cream before the doctor takes the helm, trembling.

"No more today," he says. "It would be inadvisable."

"He's got until next Sunday, I think this is a good start." Callahan had stipulated a small bowl as four level tablespoons, so the Sin-Eater is already one-eighth of the way done on this Monday evening. After the doctor has made sure that their heart rate is all right, he lets Little Sister have control, and the rest of the ice cream. She's worried about the poor Sin-Eater, but she likes sweet cream, and soon has a little bowl of her own with strawberry syrup while Will puts on 'My Neighbor Totoro' for her.

The Sin-Eater takes until Friday to perform his penance, doing some of it with Will's help and some without. Being proud of himself nearly turns him inside-out, and Will has to hold him and rub his back for a while so he'll calm down and not grab anything sharp. When it seems like he can actually listen again, Will speaks.

"It's okay," he says, "it's okay to be glad to accomplish something you didn't even think you could do. I'm proud of you, too." The Sin-Eater cries a little at this, but in that gentle, calm way that doesn't worry Will so much. Will keeps rubbing his back, and after a while he retreats to the Interior, Hannibal coming forward and scrubbing at his eyes.

"Always such a wet blanket," he says, and Will laughs, his throat a little tight.

"He really is a sweet guy," Will says, and Hannibal smiles.

"So are you," he says softly, and presses a kiss to the corner of Will's jaw. "Thank you for being so kind to him."

There's no easy way to say just how welcome Hannibal is, so Will kisses him instead, the two of them standing in the middle of the kitchen as tiny traces of ice cream melt in a saucer. Hannibal pulls away at last to clean up and to haul off the shapeless sweater that the Sin-Eater always wears. Will smiles, taking it when Hannibal hands it to him and draping it over the back of the couch. Hannibal can rejoin it a moment later, since he and Will had already taken care of the dinner dishes before the Sin-Eater sat down to complete his penance. With his reactive freakout, it's pretty late now, and Will yawns, leaning on Hannibal when he sits down beside him.

"Poor thing," Hannibal croons, and kisses Will's cheek. "The Cannibal wants me to remind you about taking him out, but even he understands that you're tired."

"I am," Will says, snuggling closer to Hannibal, "but I haven't forgotten my promise."

"Of course you haven't," he says softly, and kisses him again. They manage to shuffle their way to bed, holding each other when they can and making the whole thing take twice as long as it needs to. At last they can curl up together with the dogs around them and drift off to sleep.

Will is very put out to wake up alone except for Querida, who pokes her tiny face into his to demand that he wake up and join the pack. He chuckles and pets her clumsily as he wakes up, the process a bit like clawing his way out of a swamp. At least he has promising breakfast smells to draw him onward. Hannibal is sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over his laptop, and his eyes are reddish again, the Cannibal near the surface.

"Good morning, Will," he says, eyes shifting fully to the Cannibal's uncanny color.

"Looking for fetish clubs?" Will asks. There's something unspeakably charming in seeing the Cannibal using a computer, like watching a dog dial a phone.

"Seeing which of our old haunts are still open. I used to help Hannibal pull people, back before he met you."

"Must've been some wild times," Will says, loading a plate for himself. "More coffee?"

"Always," the Cannibal says, gently pushing his cup into Will's reach so he can refill it. 

Will sits down beside him once everything is taken care of, and listens to information read aloud from club websites. Some of them are pretty cheesy, but the Cannibal finds one that he remembers fondly. They may end up being the weird old men with no business being there, but Will agrees to a scouting mission tonight. He also agrees to carry a leash in his pocket in case it really is just like old times, and the Cannibal grins at him with all those sharp, sharp teeth.

"The doctor will probably want to ride along," the Cannibal says, and Will smiles.

"He's always such a good boy," he says, and the Cannibal grins even wider.

"He fucking loves it when you call him that," he says, and sips his coffee with a gleeful light in his red eyes.

"Don't tease him too much," Will says, only half joking, "you know he's sensitive." The Cannibal just chuckles into his cup and puts one bare foot over Will's, caressing him with simian grace.

"I'll do my best," he says, before hopping up to serve himself what's probably his third helping.


	28. Chapter 28

This may technically be a scouting mission, but Hannibal is wearing his boots, shorts, and collar. They're all hidden under a long jacket and he's wearing an actual shirt, but Will still feels either over or underdressed in jeans and flannel. Hannibal smiles when he says so, and kisses his cheek.

"I think you look as lovely as always, dearest," he says, and Will rolls his eyes, genuinely touched all the same.

"Thanks, honey," he says, and coils Hannibal's leash up into his pocket. They've improvised before, and there are tons of leashes in a house with this many dogs, but this is the good one, black leather and bought to match the collar. Hannibal shivers happily as he watches Will stow it away, and he chuckles, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You about ready?" The dogs are already taken care of, slumped and resigned to being callously abandoned, so when Hannibal nods, Will leads him out to the car. He curls up in the shotgun seat and doesn't say much as Will drives, except to offer street directions. Will keeps the radio on quietly in the background, comfortable in Hannibal's silence.

Hannibal has already said that the place is very unassuming from the outside, so Will isn't surprised to pull up to a squat, dreary building with one neon sign announcing its name, The Abyss, and another proclaiming it to be open. The woman working the door blinks in surprise at the sight of Hannibal, and he beams at her, teeth gleaming in the low, reddish light.

"Miriam!" he cries, sounding utterly delighted. 

She's a great deal more muted. "Hannibal." She looks a bit wary, but not actively hostile. "It's been a long time. Who's your friend?" Looking at her, Will feels much closer to being underdressed. She's like some kind of one-winged angel, a cascade of white feathers covering one shoulder and sweeping almost to the floor.

"This is Will Graham," Hannibal says, with one of his own graceful, queeny gestures even though his smile is all Cannibal. "We've been together for more than a year, now."

"Congratulations," she says, sounding about twenty-five percent sarcastic. She accepts Hannibal's money with one deft hand and stamps both of theirs, the white wing only moving incidentally. "House rules are the same as ever: hands to yourself, be polite, respect safewords." She gestures into the dark heart of the club. "Welcome to the Abyss."

"Thank you, dear!" Hannibal chirps, and leads Will through a low archway into the main room. 

The center is a dance floor, with a cage at each corner and a small stage rising from the middle and a bar tucked in against one side. The stage has a St. Andrew's cross and a few other promising implements, but no one is using them, people just sipping drinks or swaying to some dark, glassy-eyed track that Will has of course never heard. Hannibal leads the way to a booth in the corner and sits down, grinning that Cannibal grin.

"I'll see you later," he says, and his head drops forward as his fingers twitch for just a moment. The Cannibal looks up, and starts to laugh.

"Enjoying yourselves?" Will murmurs, and the Cannibal snickers.

"I always forget what an innocent Doc is," he says, leering. "It's funny, 'cause the he's the first one Miriam met."

"He is?"

"Oh, Doc cut off her arm," the Cannibal says breezily, and Will nearly chokes on his own spit.

"What?!"

The Cannibal laughs. "Back when he was still doing surgery."

Will rolls his eyes. "You are such an asshole, Cannibal," he says, as his companion waves to a cocktail waitress wearing glowsticks for visibility. He orders for both of them with the doctor's best manners when she makes her way over, whiskey for Will and some kind of specialty drink for himself.

"It comes in a glass shaped like a skull," he says when the waitress steps away. "You know how the Cannibal is."

Will chuckles. "I do. How are you doing so far?"

"...I can't help but wonder about fire safety and sanitation in a place like this, but it's also... soothing."

Will chuckles, and puts an arm around him. "Good." 

The doctor stiffens a little bit, but then carefully leans on Will. He might be blushing, but it's hard to say in the dark. He sits right back up when the waitress comes back, philosophically accepts his plastic skull full of some red and high-octane concoction, and gives her a generous tip, a constant throughout the system.

"Do I even want to know what's in that?" Will asks, and the doctor smiles and lists all eight ingredients. It's fruity and there's Jaegermeister involved, so Will just shudders.

"Better you than me," he says, and the doctor actually laughs, his own soft, shy laugh that Will hardly ever hears.

"It's bright red, comes in a skull, and gets us drunk," he says, "of course the Cannibal loves it." He raises it in a small toast, and Will clicks the rim of his glass against the skull's eye socket.

"Cheers," Will says, and takes a long sip while the doctor chugs half of his drink like a college kid. Will laughs, almost as concerned as he is amused. "You gonna live?" he asks, as the doctor makes a hilarious whiskey face.

"Yes," he says, still grimacing. "Now that my tastebuds are numbed, I believe that I can consume the rest."

He turns out to be right about that, and the whole thing is gone within another minute. Will isn't sure what to expect from a tipsy Dr. Lecter, but he turns out to be fucking _adorable_. He squirms out of his coat and politely asks for his leash, blushing a little as he does, and when Will clips it on he makes a happy little mewling noise in his throat.

The floor isn't anywhere near clean enough for the doctor to crawl around on, but he walks along behind Will as he explores, and carries both of their drinks. Their fellow perverts are a pretty friendly crowd, and several of them recognize Hannibal. Luckily, nobody expects him to say much when he's standing one step behind Will, eyes downcast. By the time they've made a complete circuit back to their booth, it doesn't take much coaxing to get the doctor settled in Will's lap. He cuddles close and lets Will feed him sips of his drink as he tells him what a good boy he's being. The praise makes him squirm a little with sheer happiness, and Will smiles, kissing his cheek.

"Glad you came with us?"

"Yes, sir," Dr. Lecter says, and then shifts a little and lets out a happy growl that's pure Cannibal. 

Will chuckles. "When you get tired of being good, I'll take you home," he says, and the Cannibal shivers happily.


	29. Chapter 29

In the end, the Cannibal is able to behave himself for over an hour, though the tail end of that doesn't count. Up on the central stage, a remarkably beautiful girl puts her hulking sub through his paces, and for the half hour or so that this is going on, the Cannibal is as hypnotized as everyone else. The guy goes through a whole series of set poses, each one accentuated by the strings of tiny bells he wears on different parts of his body. It's so beautiful that it takes Will a few minutes to realize that that the woman is blind, her hands not just stroking the man to steady him or out of affection, but to _see_ him.

The guy is well worth seeing. He's very pale and impressively cut, and his back is covered in some fantastical, daemonic tattoo that disappears into a pair of shorts a lot like Hannibal's. The only part of the design that emerges again is the creature's tail, sinuously wrapping around one leg to disappear into his boot. His head is covered in a leather hood that makes him look a little like an executioner, and it helps to give him an aura of menace and power, power that his delicate mistress has complete control over. 

She's wearing a simple gold shift that catches the radiance of her brown skin, and Will can barely pick out her nonverbal commands as her dark hands move on her sub's body. Some of the poses she puts him in are remarkably strenuous and at least two have to be actively painful, but the guy moves through them as naturally as he breathes and looks like he could remain in each one forever. For the time that they hold the stage, the whole place is quiet, and when she has him stand and take a bow at last, there's a roar of applause.

"That's a very shy boy, Will," the doctor says softly, and Will blinks, because that was one hell of a display for someone shy.

"Really?"

"Yes," the doctor says, tone infused with Hannibal, "but he can do it for her."

"Reminding you of anyone?" Will asks, and the doctor blushes and nods, squirming when Will kisses his cheek. "If you want a challenge we'll find something, but you're my good boy whether we do or not," Will adds, slowly wrapping his hand in Hannibal's leash. Dr. Lecter shivers, eyes big and dark.

"The Cannibal is telling me all kinds of things," he says shyly, and Will chuckles.

"Dirty things, I assume," he says, running his fingers through Hannibal's hair.

Dr. Lecter nods, and then his fingers twitch and his shy smile turns back into that happy leer. "Only the dirtiest. Doc needs to finish his education."

"He does," Will says, "but at his own pace. Be a gentle monster."

"Yes, sir," he says, and if it's more flip coming out of his mouth than Hannibal's or the doctor's, it's still sincere at the core. Will kisses his forehead.

"Good boy."

The Cannibal growls and squirms, the movement getting more and more purposeful until Will shifts him off of his lap, not wanting to be dry-humped to completion in public. He taps the tip of the Cannibal's nose with his forefinger. "No," he says, and the Cannibal sighs, catching Will's finger between his teeth for a moment before letting it go.

"I guess I'm tired of being good, sir," he purrs, and Will grins at him.

Leading the Cannibal to the door by his leash makes Will wonder why the hell they don't play with it more often. He obviously loves it, glorying in each tiny, directing tug Will gives him, and also very friendly to each and every denizen of the club. There is a kind of crackling, dangerous charm to him this way, and Will can easily believe that he was an enormous help in getting Hannibal laid. The Cannibal whines like a disappointed dog when Will unclips the leash as they approach the main door.

"We're too old for that," Will says firmly, and the Cannibal sighs, putting his coat on. As he covers his leather, Will stows the leash in his pocket again, and hooks a finger into the loop of the Cannibal's collar. "Come on," he says, and the Cannibal gives him a wide, dreamy smile. 

He waves to Miriam as they pass, and she waves back, looking amused. Will just nods to her, and gets the Cannibal back to the car as fast as he can. Even going straight home he has to summon a rational argument against road head at the first stoplight, and the Cannibal sits curled up in the shotgun seat, vibrating with barely-suppressed mayhem as he makes his case for only doing it at stoplights and stopping in between.

"I'm opposed to road head on principle," Will says, turning onto the relevant exit.

"All right, all right," the Cannibal says. "But it is such a long way home."

"We'll get there when we get there," Will says, reminding himself of his dad, and the Cannibal laughs.

When they reach the house, the Cannibal's fingers twitch and he cedes the front to the doctor, who looks entirely too pensive. "What's wrong?" Will asks, nuzzling along his jawline and making him relax just a little.

"I wanted to be good," he says softly.

"You were," Will says.

"But the Cannibal talked back."

"I don't mind a little backtalk," Will says, "and you've been good all night." 

He clips the leash back onto Dr. Lecter's collar, which makes him relax a little. Will kisses him softly on the mouth and then leads Dr. Lecter into the house, where the delighted pack greets them. Will laughs and pets them as he tows Dr. Lecter to the bed. When they get there, he presses Dr. Lecter down and curls up around him, his chest to the doctor's back.

"Better?" Will asks after a few minutes.

"Yes, sir," the doctor says softly and kisses Will's hand.

"I don't know why you worry about being a good boy," Will murmurs, nuzzling Dr. Lecter's hair. "You pretty much always are."

"I do love you, Will," he says, his voice plaintive, "I just don't know how."

"Hey, hey," Will says. "Hush. A nice date and some cuddles make a great start." He kisses the back of Dr. Lecter's neck. "You're too hard on yourself," he adds. "It's hard to be good at things when you haven't had much practice."

"Not for me," Dr. Lecter mutters, and Will has to laugh, because it's true, Dr. Lecter has access to astonishing powers of observation and recall that the others often don't.

"It's a very experiential kind of learning," Will says, and kisses the doctor's neck again, smiling at the contented way he sighs.


	30. Chapter 30

Will is very glad that he isn't expected to get up for church, and barely manages to mumble a tender farewell to the three-fifths of the system headed out the door before passing out again. He wakes up for real to Buster and Querida trying to dig him out of the blankets, and Kit's faint, desperate whining that he has to pee.

“Sorry, sorry,” Will mutters, rolling out of bed and patting everyone on his way to the door. They charge outside and Will leaves them to it for the time it takes him to slop out their breakfast and get some coffee started.

When Hannibal pulls up, Will is leaning on the porch railing and sipping his coffee. Hannibal grins from ear to ear as he gets out of the car and calls, “I need to draw you like that!” which makes Will scowl. 

Hannibal just laughs, coming up the steps and kissing Will's cheek before going inside for coffee. He emerges a moment later and stations himself beside Will. They watch a few of the dogs playing, the others still busily devouring breakfast, and don't say anything for a while. Garrulous as Hannibal can be, one of the first things Will had liked about him is his ability to keep his mouth shut. He displays it now, just being here with Will in the morning sun. Will sighs and shifts down the railing until his shoulder is pressing Hannibal's, and they breathe together for a while longer before Hannibal speaks.

“The doctor has been giving a great deal of thought to his current project.”

“In church? Dirty bastard,” Will says, and Hannibal laughs, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“I adore you. And yes. To be fair, he spends that time in the Interior except for the musical interludes.”

“Good choir?”

“Remarkably good, sometimes even I deign to attend.”

Will just snorts in reply, and then smiles when Hannibal kisses his cheek again. The last of the pack has finished snorfling down its food, and come surging out to demand their delayed walk. Hannibal changes out of the Sin-Eater's church suit and joins them in a long and leisurely circuit of the property. As always when they pass the derelict barn, he reminds Will to actually do something with the space someday, and as always Will immediately forgets about it. For once, so does Hannibal, because the doctor is shyly asking permission to join them.

“Fine by me,” Will says, and smiles as Hannibal's fingers twitch and the doctor's green flecks appear in his eyes.

“Hello, Will,” he says, and takes Will's hand in a way that makes him remember the seventh grade Winter Formal. He smiles and laces their fingers together.

“It's so bright out here,” the doctor says softly, looking around in mild wonder. “Usually when I'm out in daylight, I'm busy, or indoors.”

“I guess so,” Will says, following his gaze. “How do you like it?”

“I like it a lot,” he says softly, and Will lets him lengthen the walk, exploring the fields where he pretty much never goes. In Will's mind, the outdoors belongs more to Hannibal and the Cannibal, or even Little Sister when the wildflowers bloom. There aren't many yet this year, but that will change soon enough.

The doctor is still out when they come back to the house, and changes clothes again, going from Hannibal's walking clothes to fully-buttoned pajamas under a robe, with slippers. It's a sort of uniform for Relaxing At Home, and Will is touched yet again by how very hard it is for the doctor to be casual. He sits very upright on the couch, intently reading something on his laptop. Will has his own work-related reading to do, and the doctor fades into the background along with everything else until he recalls Will's attention with a scandalized little squeak. He's blushing when Will looks up, and hurriedly minimizes a browser window.

“Everything all right?” Will asks, and the doctor nods, his flush deepening.

“Just researching,” he says, and Will grins.

The doctor spends most of the afternoon researching, and Hannibal only insists on taking the front again when it's time to start cooking dinner, ceding control to the doctor again so he can sit up in bed next to Will and keep reading. Will wakes up to the same sight.

“Don't overdo it, doc,” Will mumbles, and the doctor blushes again.

“We slept, Will,” he says, “Hannibal has been very definite about that.”

“Good,” Will says, and yawns, beginning the slow process of hauling himself vertical for Monday morning. 

Hannibal emerges to give Will a proper kiss goodbye, and to tell him to feel free to look at the doctor's search history. Since Will has two hours before he needs to be anywhere, he settles in with the laptop as soon as the dogs have had a chance to go out, already fed by the doctor.

Will isn't sure precisely what he's expecting from Dr. Lecter's research, but it actually isn't medical fetish. It takes Will a moment to put it together, that the medical stuff is less about kink and more about a deep need for cleanliness and control. Dr. Lecter likes smooth latex, autoclave-ready metal, and nice, secure bondage. The framework of a medical procedure comforts him so much that he has actually written up a consent for treatment form that outlines manual, oral, and anal options, all neatly listed like different administration routes for medication. Will has to laugh, even if he's very touched by how comprehensive the form is.. He leaves a digital sticky note on the form that just says: _you know i love you a lot, right?_

When Will gets home that evening, he finds Hannibal trilling opera as he cooks. He turns and beams at Will when he comes through the door, and Will makes his way over to wrap his arms around Hannibal's waist and kiss him. He keeps hanging on when Hannibal turns back to his work, and listens to a brief history of tonight's entree along with Hannibal's heartbeat.

“Doc get my note?” Will asks, during a pause, and Hannibal laughs.

“He did, and I think the pair of you are going to get lucky sooner than you know.”

“I'm ready when he is,” Will says, and kisses Hannibal's neck before releasing him and wandering off to change out of his work clothes. By the time he's done, Hannibal is lounging on the couch and letting things simmer. Will joins him, snuggling in against his chest and just enjoying him for a moment. He loves the others, but he has the most history with Hannibal. It's good to just be here now, whatever happens later.


	31. Chapter 31

After dinner the doctor emerges again, and brings Will a hard copy of the consent form, the manual options already checked. Will carefully doesn't laugh at him. It's silly, but Dr. Lecter is completely serious, and Will would hate to hurt his feelings. He takes the time to read the form even though he remembers most of what it says, and then carefully signs and dates it in black ink. Dr. Lecter does the same, and then begins to set up his operating theater. Naturally, he wants the dogs upstairs, and when Will returns from shutting them in, he's not surprised to see the couch covered with a pristine white sheet, and none of the lights turned low. 

Lying on the covered arm of the couch is a pack of antiseptic wipes and the kit Hannibal bought, shrink wrap still intact. Will smiles, just wondering where Dr. Lecter is when he comes in from the other room. He's wearing one of Hannibal's silk robes over nothing. Tightly belted it covers him from his collarbones to his calves, but it still seems a little scandalous, in light of how much he usually wears. He gives Will a reptilian, nervous little smile, and comes up to the couch. 

Will smiles at him. "Should I change, or am I clean enough?"

"I think it will do for tonight," Dr. Lecter says softly, and sits down on the couch, very upright. It only enhances the utter lack of mood lighting, but Will isn't going to complain. He settles beside the doctor, putting one arm around him and just letting him lean for a while. He always feels a little lighter than Hannibal, humming tension holding some of its own weight.

"Easy, easy," Will murmurs, and the tension eases a bit. "We can just sit here all night, honey."

"I would prefer to accomplish something," Dr. Lecter says, and Will chuckles, kissing his cheek.

"If you say so," he says, and slips a hand into the robe, just trailing an aimless circle on Dr. Lecter's chest. It's as nice to touch as ever, but Will can't help feeling a little muted. Dr. Lecter is so hopelessly innocent, so fragile. Will feels more like wrapping him in a fluffy blanket than giving him a handjob, but he's trying so hard. Will sighs, and rests his head on the doctor's chest for a few minutes, listening to his heartbeat and his breath, and pondering this familiar and alien body that he now knows almost as well as his own. 

"Sweet boy," Will murmurs, and pushes the robe open, kissing just over Dr. Lecter's heart, "and so brave."

"Thank you, sir," Dr. Lecter whispers, and Will sighs, kissing his way up to the doctor's mouth. He goes slowly, and each touch is soft. He still feels more like cherishing the doctor than doing anything dirty, but there is a kind of weird thrill to the look on the doctor's face when Will gently urges him onto his back.

"Just relax," he says softly, "and I'll keep you as comfortable as possible." Now that he has Dr. Lecter supine, the lighting is actually starting to work, making this feel like a procedure. It's not exactly Will's thing, but it gives him something to hold on to.

"Yes, sir," the doctor whispers again, and Will smiles down at him before reaching over to grab the kit, shredding the shrink wrap as he sits back.

"I'm glad we're so well-equipped," he says, pulling on one of the latex gloves and watching the look in Dr. Lecter's hazel eyes as he does it, wanting a new association with the texture. Work latex is necessarily horrifically unsexy, but here with the doctor so nervous and eager and sweet, maybe it's not so bad. Will smiles reassuringly down at him, and feels a ridiculous urge to promise him a lollipop when they're done here. "You know this won't hurt," is what he says instead, and the doctor nods.

"Yes, sir." He still looks shy, but a bit calmer. Will thinks about how he actually would do a medical procedure on a nervous patient, and realizes that he's going to have to explain himself as he goes. He wonders why this is so much more embarrassing than all the Cannibal's freaky shit, and begins.

"I'm going to start slow," he says, and runs his hand up the inside of Dr. Lecter's thigh. He trembles at Will's touch and opens his legs a little more, hampered a bit by the width of the couch. That's all right, Will has more than enough room to operate. He just drifts his gloved fingertips over Dr. Lecter at first. There's some variation with persona, but Will is pretty sure it's mostly blood pressure. The Cannibal, of course, seems to get harder than everyone else. Will smiles, strokes Dr. Lecter a little bit, feeling the limitations of the dry latex.

"Now it's time to add lubricant," Will says, and uncaps the little white tube. It's good stuff, just a little cold, and Will rubs his fingers together to warm it a bit before touching Dr. Lecter again, looming over him. 

The doctor shivers and sighs, pushing up against Will's hand, his eyes drifting shut the way Hannibal's do when he isn't sure if he wants to fuck or to sleep more. Will smiles and strokes him more firmly, watching his reactions. He finds himself throwing out praise and encouragement more and more often as each word makes the doctor relax more. He paws aimlessly at the couch, his own chest, and what little he can reach of Will, his skilled hands so useless that it gives Will a little thrill of power to be the one causing it.

"There you go," he coos, as Dr. Lecter's thighs start to rhythmically tense, his hips bucking in an automatic and ungainly way that just melts Will's heart a little more. "That's right," Will says, "good boy." Dr. Lecter's eyes fly open wide and unseeing, and he lets out a little strangled noise as he comes all over Will's glove. Will himself is semi-hard at best, but that's not what matters. What matters is the way the doctor looks up at him, wide-eyed and wondering.

The couch is pretty small for two grown men, but Will makes it work. First he strips off the soiled glove and throws it away, and then uses the wipes to make sure that both of them are perfectly clean so the doctor can relax, sighing as Will stretches out on top of him. The glaring lamps are more annoying than ever this way, but for the moment Will elects to remain where he is, just breathing with Dr. Lecter.


	32. Chapter 32

Will isn't sure just what effect the ascetic Dr. Lecter's loss of innocence will have on the system, and he can't help being a little nervous in the days that follow. After some cuddling Dr. Lecter makes himself scarce, not so much as a greenish flicker in Hannibal's eyes until Wednesday night, when they're watching one of Hannibal's weird art movies and Hannibal's head just dips out of nowhere, nodding up again with the doctor's eyes.

"Thank fucking Christ," Will mutters, and hugs him tightly, a little shocked at his own emotion. The doctor hesitates, and then wraps his arms around Will in return, holding on for a while.

"Did I worry you?" he asks at last.

"Little bit," Will admits, muffled in the doctor's shoulder.

"I just needed time to think," he says softly, a more personal version of his blandly consoling professional tone. 

Will chuckles. "Of course you did," he says, feeling much better as Dr. Lecter starts stroking his hair. He leans into the touch and sighs, speaking again without opening his eyes. "The Cannibal calls you 'doc.' Can I?"

"...Sure," he says softly, and Will kisses his cheek.

"You are sweet," he says, "I just didn't know it at first."

Doc blushes. "I was not very courteous when we met," he says, and Will laughs and shakes his head at the memory.

"God, was I pissed!"

Doc chuckles, sounding a little pained. "Believe me, Will, I know. And you weren't the only one, I had to hear from Hannibal for days after."

"At least I know now," Will says, and kisses his cheek again. "I know you're my sweet boy."

Doc can't help a happy little quiver, and allows Will to ease him into his lap. They skip back a scene and settle in for the rest of the movie. Will loses the thread more than once because it's in German and about five years long, but Doc likes it, and has a few interesting things to say about the precise angles of the lighting, and the different dialects that Will can't pick up at all. Cuddling with Doc is bonier and cooler than cuddling with Hannibal, but just as pleasant, and Will is dozing by the time the credits roll. Doc gently prods him up and off the couch, and marches him to the bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, and take a multivitamin before bed. Will generally hates having anyone fuss over him, but a little at a time from Doc is okay. When he says so, Doc laughs softly.

"I'm glad you can tolerate it so well," he says, and crawls into bed after Will, the dogs disposing themselves for the night, some on the mattress and others lounging on the floor, a few tails lightly thumping. Will sighs, feeling like the darkened room is the lynchpin of the turning world, and wraps himself around the doctor. The words _I'm glad you're here_ seem trite, so Will doesn't say anything, and the silence slides into the monochrome glass dreams he has when he sleeps with Doc.

In the morning Hannibal is rattling pans in the kitchen and singing something in Italian while the dogs inhale their own food, and Will smiles, just watching the brisk way he moves, and how he hasn't done anything about his hair. He gets up and pads over to fix it himself, finger-combing it as Hannibal laughs and keeps working.

"As you like, Will," he says. 

He's cutting it a little close with a breakfast this elaborate on a Thursday, but Will knows better than to say anything. Any time something jolts the system, for good or ill, Hannibal always centers himself by making a lavish meal, for one if he has no company. Now he plates everything like it's going into some food porn magazine, and Will takes his time over it, even though he knows he'll be blowing into his first lecture without a moment to spare. This is more important, and Hannibal has that weird, beatific glow he gets sometimes when he watches Will eat. It's pretty disconcerting, actually, but he's glad to help Hannibal feel better. They leave the dishes soaking into the sink and bolt out to their separate careers. 

It turns out to be a very trying day for Will, and he's glad to be fortified by a good breakfast. For one thing, he has office hours, and every dipshit who didn't get around to it on Tuesday has to show up today. He reminds himself that it's spring, that soon he won't have anything to deal with but a huge lecture once a week for the summer session. He goes over the notes in his mind as he answers stupid questions, grants and denies extensions, and does his best to remain professional and polite. It's hard going, and when he's finally in the safety of his car, he tears his tie off, flinging it into the passenger seat and popping open the top three buttons of his shirt. 

By the time Will gets home, his blazer is crumpled in the back seat and his shirt is completely untucked, his glasses resting on the other seat with the tie. He leaves the whole mess where it is and wanders up the porch steps. The house smells like a dinner to match breakfast, and Hannibal is bustling about like the happy housewife that he is, wearing an actual apron. Will grins at him, just standing in the open doorway to let the dogs bound out while he watches Hannibal work. Hannibal looks over his shoulder from the stove, and grins back.

"You look comfortable," he says, and Will lets the door swing shut, slipping out of his shoes and padding to the kitchen to kiss Hannibal. It's slow and just a little dirty, and they let it go on for a while. At last Hannibal has to pull away to check on the food and Will has to go collect the dogs, but they reconvene on the couch for a drink, and Will rests his head on Hannibal's shoulder, so glad to have all of him.

"How's Doc doing?" Will asks, after desultory talk about the day and its many provocations.

Hannibal chuckles. "He feels very cozy, having a nickname of his own. He was just the Good Boy or the Teacher's Pet when we were young, you know."

"He's Doc now," Will mutters, nuzzling into Hannibal's shirt and breathing in. "I never liked calling him Dr. Lecter."

"I suppose it is extremely formal, in your position," Hannibal says, stroking his hair.

"Exactly," Will says, cuddling even closer. In about fifteen minutes Hannibal will pry himself loose to go check on everything, but for now Will holds onto him and just breathes, as contented as the dogs.


End file.
